


With Mine Eyes

by FireandRosemary



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Bathing/Washing, Blind Character, Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Comfort, Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mild Sexual Content, No victim blaming, Past Domestic Violence, Platonic Cuddling, Platonic Female/Male Relationships, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:13:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 37
Words: 131,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25919395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FireandRosemary/pseuds/FireandRosemary
Summary: Athos is free from Milady but nothing ever runs smoothly for long; the arrival of a woman in Paris sets events and plots into motion that could catch all of the Musketeers in a web of hatred. Shamelessly Athos centric.Cross posted on fanfic.net
Relationships: Athos | Comte de la Fère/Original Female Character(s), musketeers gain a sister
Comments: 187
Kudos: 55





	1. Chapter 1

_In faith I do not love thee with mine eyes,_

_For they in thee a thousand errors note,_

_But ‘tis my heart that loves what they despise,_

_Who in despite the view is pleased to dote._

_William Shakespeare_

Captain Treville sat at his desk frowning at the report he held in his hands, he had not planned for this and of all days to receive such a report, this was not a good one. Quickly he thought through the duties he had assigned to his musketeers today and wondered who he could trust to carry out what now needed to be done. As if on cue he heard a familiar laugh from the courtyard; Porthos if he was not much mistaken. He sighed and dropped the report back on his desk before making his way out onto the balcony.

They were there, the three inseparables, recently become four with d’Artagnan’s commission. He did not announce himself immediately but stood watching them, contemplating. They were always to be found together and if not then they were looking for each other. He had often likened them in his mind to a pack of hounds; loyal to their pack and always able to find each other come hell or high water. It was not uncommon for soldiers to form strong bonds but these four were stronger than most. He had known other Captains who would have separated such soldiers; fearing the effect it would have if one were wounded or killed but he could not condone such a thing, not with these four. As he watched them, Aramis smiling brightly as he poked fun at d’Artagnan, Porthos clapping the boy on the shoulder and Athos smiling wryly as he lounged against the stairs, Treville made a decision.

“You four; my office, now,” he knew his irritation was apparent in his voice and saw the raised eyebrows as he turned away. A moment later he heard their footsteps on the stairs as they obeyed without question. They filed in, Athos leading them, the others following in his wake. They stood silent and still, waiting patiently. “I’ve had a report of trouble along the road into the city; a small group of men in the woods that border the road. There is someone travelling along that road today who may need protection and I can only spare two of you; Athos and Porthos you’re going.”

“Who are we protecting?” Athos had raised an eyebrow in question.

“Her name is Madame Ardoin; she’ll be travelling with a man and another woman; they are due to arrive on the road today. Get yourselves out there and watch for them; when you get them to Paris then bring them here.”

“To the garrison?” Porthos’ confusion was evident.

“That’s what I said.” Treville fixed the soldier with a glare. “There is one more thing you need to know-” He was cut off as the door to the office flew open and a messenger fell into the office closely followed by an apologetic looking musketeer.

“Captain Treville, the King demands your presence immediately.” Treville sighed and picked up his hat and cloak.

“Aramis, d’Artagnan with me.” He hurried out of the room closely followed by the musketeers he had summoned, leaving Athos and Porthos behind. They looked at the door before turning to each other.

“Well so much for something we needed to know.” Porthos glanced back at the door.

“I imagine we’ll find out soon enough.” Athos’ face betrayed nothing.

“Best get going then; don’t want to upset him anymore.” Without another word they placed their hats on their heads and left the room.

Treville stood before the King; although he was outwardly calm Aramis and d’Artagnan could see the tension in his jaw and shoulders. They knew their Captain was fretting although they could not fathom why. As per usual the King prattled on, not realising, or caring that something bothered his loyal musketeer.

“...and when she arrives, I want to meet her; I’m quite fascinated.”

“Of course, your Majesty.”

“Very well, Treville you can go.” The King turned away and the musketeers and their Captain bowed low before leaving. Aramis and d’Artagnan followed him, neither daring to speak and risk the wrath they could see simmering just below the surface. They both tensed as he rounded a corner, only to collide with a woman coming the other way, sending the pile of linen in her arms to the floor where it collapsed in untidy folds. It was only when Treville stepped away, mumbling an apology that they saw that he had collided with Constance.

“It’s alright, Captain, I wasn’t Looking where I was going either.” She knelt and began to gather up the pile of fabric. Out of chivalry, Treville knelt to help, but his musketeers could see that he was itching to get away.

“You go on, Captain; I’ll help Madame Bonacieux.” D’Artagnan stepped forwards and the Captain straightened, nodding.

“Don’t be too long.” He strode off along the corridor and d’Artagnan knelt beside Constance, studiously ignoring the smile on Aramis’ face as he followed the Captain.

“Is he alright?” Constance shook out a piece of linen and began to refold it.

“Not sure, he’s been in an odd mood all day.”

“He looked worried.” Her brow creased in concern.

“He has a lot to worry about.” D’Artagnan picked up the now neatly folded pile of linen and stood, offering a hand to Constance. She took it and rose to her feet before taking the linen from his hands.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He paused, gazing at her for a moment. “How are you enjoying the life of a lady in waiting?”

“Well I don’t get to go home much, which means I don’t really see my husband.” She watched as his face dropped and laughed. “But that does mean I get to see you.” He grinned at her, once more giving thanks as he had many times over the last few months that Constance had come to work at the palace and that they had once again been able to rekindle their love; albeit more carefully than last time. Glancing around quickly to make sure no one else was around; d’Artagnan leant forwards and pressed a gentle kiss to her lips before taking his leave and moving hastily down the corridor after Treville and Aramis.

Athos and Porthos cantered along the road making their way to the woods that Treville had spoken of. They slowed when they reached the right stretch of road, walking their horses slowly while watching the trees carefully for any sign of the bandits.

“So, who do you reckon she is?” Porthos’ eyes flicked back and forth as he spoke.

“It doesn’t matter; Treville has ordered us to protect her. If he wants us to find out who she is then he’ll tell us,” Athos sounded bored.

“Would it kill you to be curious?” Porthos shook his head.

“There’s a saying about curiosity.” Porthos could swear he heard a note of amusement under the boredom, something that happened more often now that Athos was free of Milady. He was about to retort when the crack of a gunshot sounded on the road ahead of them. As they spurred their horses along the road, both feared that they may have failed in their mission before it had even begun.

As they rode, Athos heard one of the most terrible noises in the world; a horses’ scream, mingled with that of a woman. They rounded the bend in the road at a gallop, their horses barely keeping their footing. Athos drew his pistol, barely keeping his grip on his horses’ reins as he hauled it to a stop. He looked at the scene before him and counted five men all brandishing one form of weapon or another. Two horses milled around nervously, and he could see the body of a man not far away. Another horse spun in terror, the woman on its’ back clutching on as best she could. He fired his pistol and heard Porthos do the same; two of the men fell soundlessly. One turned and fired at him, and Athos felt the shot fly past his head. Porthos leapt from his horse, drawing his sword and Athos followed suit.

“Eleanor.” He heard the woman call out and another shot rang through the air, a second later the woman’s horse screamed and fell in a tangle of limbs, taking her with it.

One man ran at Porthos and Athos heard a woman’s scream as another man ran at him. He parried a thrust from the knife in the man’s hand and flicked the point of his sword round, driving it through his opponents’ chest. He paused and looked around, Porthos had just dispatched his opponent and by Athos’ reckoning that left one more. He heard a strangled cry and turned; the last man knelt on the floor, straddling another woman. One hand was wrapped about her neck, in his other hand he held a knife, the point of the blade pressing into the hollow of her throat. He looked up; his eyes desperate as the two musketeers advanced on him.

“Don’t come any closer.” He glared at them and tightened his grip on the girl, she grasped at his wrist as she fought for breath, her nails leaving bloody lines across his skin.

“Jesus, he’s killing her.” Athos heard Porthos’ voice low behind him and knew his friend was right.

“Your friends are dead, if you kill this woman now in cold blood it will not save you.” Athos took a small step closer, halting when the man pressed the knife against the girls’ throat, drawing a drop of blood that shone like a ruby against her fair skin. She cried out and her feet kicked wildly, heels digging into the soft earth.

“Won’t make much difference then will it?” Desperation verging on madness showed in his eyes and the musketeers coiled like springs as they realised what he intended. At that moment, the girl gave a cry and with some deep reserve of desperate strength managed to push his hand away, knocking the knife to the side. Athos saw Porthos move, running faster than any man of his size should and barrelling into the man, knocking him away from the girl. They rolled across the floor and Athos ran towards the woman; she had rolled onto her side, one hand at her throat as she drew in shuddering breaths. As he reached her, Athos saw Porthos rise to his feet, leaving the man in a bleeding heap on the dirt road.

“Are you alright, Madame?” Athos reached out to help the woman sit up, swiftly pulling his hand back when she flinched from his touch as though burned. Her head turned towards his voice, but she did not look at him. She said nothing, but her head turned again as Porthos approached, his eyes fixed on the girl, a frown on his face as he watched her carefully.

“Athos.” Porthos’ voice was quiet, and he nodded at the girl, frowning. Athos looked up at Porthos then back at the woman in front of him; her green eyes did not focus on anything, but her head turned at the sounds of their movement. It took him only a moment to realise what Porthos had already seen. This woman was blind.


	2. Chapter 2

Athos looked at the girl again and took a breath, uncertain of how to reassure her. Porthos saw his hesitation and stepped forwards quickly, crouching in front of the girl. When he spoke, his voice was a quiet rumble, as though he were soothing a skittish horse.

“It’s alright, we’re King’s musketeers.” Carefully he reached out and took the girls’ hand, lifting it to his shoulder; Athos watched as her fingers traced over the carefully tooled leather of his pauldron. Her head turned towards Athos and she reached out her hand towards him, her expression guarded. Athos glanced at Porthos and saw the big man nod. Deciding not to question his friend; he reached forwards and gently grasped her fingers, lifting her hand and placing it carefully on his shoulder. Once she had felt the fleur-de-lis, she seemed calmer and Athos took her hand once more, helping her to her feet.

“Thank you for your help, gentlemen. It’s fortunate that you arrived when you did.” She shook her head, dislodging the lock of fiery red hair that had fallen across her face.

“A report was received of trouble on the road, we were sent to ensure that it stopped,” Athos paused as the girl began to turn her head from side to side as though trying to locate something.

“Charlotte? Raoul?” The girl called out the names and when she received no answer turned back towards the musketeers. “I had two others with me: a girl and a young man. Please, are they here?”

Porthos moved over to where the horse that had been shot lay. The girl lay under it, her chest crushed and her eyes unseeing. He brushed his fingers down her face, gently closing her eyes and looked around; there was a boy not far away, he was sprawled face down and his clothing suggested that he was not one of the bandits. Carefully Porthos rolled him over and saw instantly that there was no help for him; a blade to the throat had seen to that. Sighing, he rose to his feet and made his way back to where the girl stood with Athos.

“I’m sorry; they didn’t make it.”

“Oh no,” her breath hitched, and Athos caught her arm as she swayed on her feet, leaning heavily on him.

“We will see to it that they are buried,” Athos’ voice was as steady and sure as his grip on her arm. “But for now, I must ask your name.”

“E...Eleanor Ardoin,” her voice shook as she answered and Porthos saw tears spill over to fall like crystal drops down her cheeks. After a moment she seemed to shake herself and drew in a few harsh breaths, scrubbing her tears away with the back of her hand. A few more breaths later and she seemed to have composed herself with what could only be an iron self-control, for when she spoke her voice was steady. “If I might prevail upon you to find my horse, Monsieurs’; she has a rope tied to her bridle.”

“I see her.” Porthos turned and moved across the clearing to where an elegant chestnut mare stood, gazing back at him, the dappled sunlight shining on a smooth coat that was almost the same fiery red as her mistress’ hair. Carefully he approached her, and she regarded him warily with liquid eyes. “S’alright, sweetheart, I’m not gonna hurt you.” Her ears twitched as she heard his soft rumble and the horse did not move as he took hold of her bridle, lifting the trailing rope before turning her back across the clearing.

As the big musketeer turned to retrieve the horse, Eleanor had turned to Athos whose hand remained on her arm.

“It strikes me, Monsieur that you have not yet introduced yourselves.”

“My apologies, Madame Ardoin, it was remiss of us. I am Athos of the Kings’ Musketeers.”

“And your friend?”

“Porthos, also of the Kings’ Musketeers.” She inclined her head, a small smile ghosting over her features.

As Porthos approached them the horse tossed her head and snorted. Eleanor’s head turned and she stretched out a hand, her fingers finding and gently caressing the velvety muzzle. Almost immediately the horse calmed and Porthos smiled at the clear bond between the pair.

“Do you need assistance, Madame?” He felt her fingers brush his as she stepped away from Athos and took the reins.

“Not to mount, thank you, but she will need to follow one of your horses if you would be so kind as to lead her once I am mounted.” She stepped alongside the mare and ran one hand over the chestnut neck. Her fingers pressed against a point on the silken fur and both musketeers looked on in amazement as the mare sank gracefully to her knees, settling on the ground. Eleanor settled herself in the saddle with smooth, practiced motions and at a gentle nudge from her heels the mare rose once more to her feet. Shaking off their surprise at what they had just seen, Athos and Porthos quickly hurried to retrieve their own horses.

“Never seen a horse that well trained.” Porthos’ voice was a murmur as he swung himself into the saddle.

“Especially not a chestnut mare,” Athos could not hide the note of admiration in his voice. He had owned and ridden plenty of well-trained horses before, however every chestnut mare he had ridden had been hot tempered and entirely uncooperative. Granted, his horse could be an absolute bastard at times but never quite so bad as a chestnut mare.

Porthos moved his horse alongside Eleanor’s and grasped the rope; it had not taken any great length of discussion to decide that he should lead her. Athos’ horse had about as much inclination as his rider for company and was not unknown to send well aimed kicks at other horses that invaded his personal space. They made their way towards Paris at a steady walk, and Athos could hear snatches of words from behind as Porthos made easy conversation with Eleanor. As her gentle laugh sounded, the elder musketeer found himself wondering how his friends all seemed to have the talent of being able to strike up conversation without any effort. Managing, within moments, to sound as though they had known someone for years. He doubted that even had he been so inclined, he would ever find it that easy.

It was late in the afternoon when they rode into the garrison, the air still warm with the last vestiges of summer. Athos dismounted, tossing the reins of his horse to the stable boy before helping Eleanor from her mare. He had barely set her on her feet when he heard a familiar voice.

“I thought you’d never make it back, any longer and Treville would have sent us out after you.” He turned to see d’Artagnan leaning against a pillar.

“Nice to see he misses us.” Porthos swung himself from the saddle and clapped the boy on the shoulder.

“He’s been twitchy all day.” Aramis sauntered over and fed the apple he was holding to Porthos’ horse. He paused, taking in the girl stood before Athos and each of his three friends rolled their eyes as he looked at her, a familiar spark in his dark eyes.

“Well you had best inform him that we have arrived.” Athos’ voice was firm and his gaze hard with silent warning. Aramis took the hint and turned, making his way up the stairs to Treville’s office.

Barely moments later, they heard hurried footsteps and Treville emerged onto the balcony and made his way down the stairs, his gaze fixed on the girl. When he stepped onto the courtyard, he seemed almost hesitant as he moved towards her and took her hands in his own.

“It’s good to see you again, Eleanor.”

“And you, Father.”

D’Artagnan blinked in surprise, not quite sure if had heard her words right. He looked at the others, seeing equal surprise on each of their faces, or as close to equal as was possible. Porthos was in danger of losing his eyebrows if they rose any further. Aramis had taken a step back, any thoughts he might have had about wooing this young woman quickly retreating, and Athos had quirked an eyebrow.

Treville looked at Eleanor, brushing her hair back from her face and frowning when he noticed the small cut at the base of her throat. He glanced up at Athos and Porthos and nodded his gratitude before taking the girls’ arm and guiding her up the stairs to his office. The musketeers watched as they disappeared and headed towards the table where Serge was laying out food and wine. Athos fell into step beside Porthos as they made their way across the courtyard.

“How did you realise so quickly?” Athos knew that he did not need to explain himself.

“Seen plenty like her in the Court; easy enough to recognise.” His voice was quiet, and Athos nodded, seeing the fleeting sadness that crossed the big man’s’ features.

“Come on, you two, or d’Artagnan will have eaten all the food,” Aramis grinned as he called to them.

“Yes, and Aramis will have drunk all the wine,” d’Artagnan’s retort was accompanied by a flying piece of bread aimed at Aramis’ head.

“Well I s’pose that answers the question of who she is,” Porthos grinned as he reached for a jug of wine.

“I never knew the Captain had a daughter.” Aramis had picked up another apple.

“I would imagine it never came up in conversation.” D’Artagnan had just about got over his shock.

“Yeah and if it had I bet he would never have told you.” Porthos chuckled as he helped himself to stew.

“It’s true, she is very attractive.”

“No!” Aramis almost fell off the bench as his three friends spoke in unison. He looked up to see Athos staring at him over the rim of his cup, his eyes hard and his face as unyielding as an avenging angel.

“Don’t even think about it, Aramis.”

“I won’t.”

“I mean it; she’s not just another girl for you to seduce.” He glared and Aramis held up his hands in surrender.

“You have my solemn vow, my friends that I will not go near her.” He flashed them a smile and they all sighed.

They looked up as footsteps sounded above them and Treville emerged with Eleanor, one of her hands on his arm as they made their way down the stairs. He paused as he passed the table and fixed Athos and Porthos with a stare.

“I’ll be back later; you two give me your report then.” Athos nodded and Treville turned without another word, leading Eleanor from the garrison.

Treville led Eleanor through the streets of Paris, guiding her carefully through the crowds. They had not walked far when they came to a modest house, not far away from the market. Stopping at the door, Treville pulled a key from his pocket and opened it, leading Eleanor inside.

The hallway was quiet and cool compared to the hot, noisy streets of Paris, and Eleanor relished the sudden quiet as Treville closed the door. A moment later footsteps sounded, and she heard a woman’s voice.

“Monsieur Treville, at last, we were starting to worry. There is wine in the kitchen for you both.”

“Thank you, Anna.” Treville took Eleanor’s arm and brought her forwards a step. “This is my daughter, Eleanor. Eleanor, this is Anna; she looks after the house and will be taking care of you.”

“A pleasure to meet you, my dear, he has told me so much about you.”

“Good things, I hope.” Eleanor smiled.

“Always.” Anna took one of Eleanor’s hands in her own; her hands were firm and her touch caring. “Come, you must be tired from your journey.” Treville smiled as she led Eleanor down the hall. Anna was of good solid country stock; she took no nonsense from anybody and he trusted her completely to take care of Eleanor. He followed them down the hall to the kitchen to find Eleanor sat at the table. Anna clucked her tongue at him as he entered.

“Sit, you must stay for a while.” She set a glass of wine in front of him and bustled from the room.

“Anna is a good woman; she’ll take good care of you.” He settled himself into a chair and Eleanor smiled.

“I like her; she doesn’t let you get away with anything I see.”

“You’re right there.” He laughed and took a sip of the wine. “This house is yours to use. I never sleep here now so it will be good to have it lived in once more. I’ll show it to you in a while; it’s not big so you’ll be able to learn it quickly.” He paused, slightly awkward in her presence after so long. “The King wants to meet you.” Her head lifted sharply.

“Why?” Her tone was guarded.

“He’s...fascinated.”

“Ah, he’s never seen a blind woman up close and wants to gawp, is that it?” Her voice was harsh.

“He’s also fascinated by the fact that I have a daughter.”

“Many men have daughters.”

“Yes but no one knew that I did.” She nodded in a grudging understanding.

“When?”

“Tomorrow morning.”

“Fine.” Sensing that she was not pleased, Treville put his glass down and stood.

“Come on, I’ll show you the house.” He took her arm and led her through the house, walking slowly as her fingers trailed along the walls and she began to learn her way around.


	3. Chapter 3

Aramis sat at the table; his head bent over the pistol he was polishing. He listened as Athos put d’Artagnan through his paces and smiled as he heard a thud followed by Porthos’ laugh and an admonishment from Athos. He looked up as he heard heavy footsteps and instantly recognised the Captain’s tread. Treville looked far more relaxed than he had previously in the day, some of the tension had gone from his shoulders but he still did not look entirely happy.

“Athos, Porthos, my office.” His tone was one that his musketeers had learned not to disregard if they wished to continue breathing and the soldiers in question immediately ceased their activities and followed him up the stairs.

When they reached the office, Treville was pacing back and forth, not unlike an angry lion. They had barely closed the door behind them when he spoke.

“What happened?”

“We found Madame Ardoin and her companions being attacked on the road. By the time we got there, her companions were dead.” Athos kept his report blunt and to the point.

“You killed the bandits?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“What happened to Eleanor?”

“The last man alive held a knife to her throat.”

“Alright, she said you conducted yourselves well; ‘perfect gentlemen’ she called you. Personally, I think she’s being generous to you ruffians but well done. She’s not an easy woman to impress.” The last vestiges of tension appeared to leave him, and he sat down. “Tomorrow the King has asked to meet Eleanor, you two, along with Aramis and d’Artagnan are coming with us; the more people she has around her who she’s met the happier she’ll be.” He nodded at them, effectively dismissing them and they filed from the office.

That night, the musketeers sat in the tavern, a large jug of wine on the table between them.

“She said you were what?” Aramis’ eyes sparkled with laughter as he poured wine into his cup.

“Said we was perfect gentlemen.”

“Porthos, my friend, she clearly is not well acquainted with you.” Aramis laughed at the offended look on his friend’s face.

“Either that or she’s had a poor sampling of gentlemen.” D’Artagnan ducked, not quite managing to avoid the cuff that Porthos aimed at his head.

“So, what is she like?” Aramis caught the glances of his friends and held up his hands. “I’m merely curious as to what manner of woman the Captain has bred.”

“She seems nice enough,” Porthos grunted. “Got that horse of hers well trained.”

“I wonder if she’s inherited the Captain’s temper.” D’Artagnan poured more wine into his cup. “What do you think, Athos?” They looked at Athos who had not yet spoken a word.

“Not being well acquainted with her I wouldn’t know; however, if she is anything like him at all then I imagine it was unavoidable.” He drained his glass and stood, bidding them goodnight before heading for home.

The next morning the musketeers gathered in the garrison and waited for Treville to assign the duties to the rest of the regiment. Eventually he was ready, and they mounted their horses, Aramis leading Eleanor’s mare as they made their way through the streets. It did not take long for Eleanor to appear at the door of the house and she greeted Porthos and Athos with a smile before being introduced to Aramis and d’Artagnan. Porthos grinned at the look of surprise on his brothers’ faces as they watched Eleanor mount her horse.

It did not take them long to ride to the palace and Treville took his daughter’s arm as they made their way through the corridors to the throne room. The King and Queen sat, watching as they approached. The Cardinal stood to one side and Treville groaned inwardly as he saw Rochefort leaning against one wall.

“Your majesties, may I present my daughter, Eleanor Ardoin.” He led Eleanor to stand before the thrones and stepped away as she curtsied deeply.

“You are married, Eleanor? The King was grinning as he studied her face.

“Widowed, Majesty.” Eleanor raised her head and gave a slight smile that did not reach her eyes. Athos watched as the King asked her more questions, grinning like a child with a new toy. Eleanor answered them, her tone civil but her manner ever so slightly aloof. He could tell that she was not happy to be here and he did not blame her. He was jerked from his observations as he heard the King make an exclamation of surprise.

“You dance, you say?”

“Yes, your Majesty, I enjoy dancing.”

“How intriguing.” The King grinned at the Cardinal as though sharing a private joke. “I am glad you came to visit us; we should hope to see you again sometime.” Eleanor curtsied and Athos felt Treville nudge his arm.

“Take her home.” Athos nodded once and stepped forwards, gently taking Eleanor’s hand, and placing it on his arm.

“Madame Ardoin, the Captain has asked me to take you home.” She nodded and fell into step beside him as the King called Treville forwards. He moved quickly, leading her from the throne room, knowing that the King would begin to chatter about her and not wanting the barely controlled fire in her eyes to have any more fuel added to it. Once they had made their way into the corridor he spoke quietly.

“I will not insult you by asking if you are alright.” The corner of her mouth twisted up in a humourless smile.

“It’s nice to know that you at least have some sense.” Athos gave a wry smile.

“I think the Captain might disagree.”

“Yes, he has written to me of the antics of you and your friends.” Her smile was genuine this time.

“Then I fear all hope is lost.”

“Not quite.” Her smile vanished as she felt him stop suddenly as footsteps sounded behind them.

“Your Eminence.” Athos greeted Richelieu as he appeared behind them in the hallway and Eleanor could hear his guarded tone. The Cardinal smiled with all the sincerity of a snake as he approached them.

“I am surprised, Madame Ardoin that your father permits you to be escorted by lone musketeers.” Eleanor felt Athos’ muscles stiffen under her hand and smiled sweetly.

“I thank you for your concern, Cardinal. However, although I have only been acquainted with them a short while, in that time they have proven themselves to be perfect gentlemen, whereas others in higher position have yet to do so.”

“A bold statement, Madame. I hope they continue to prove gentlemanly.” Eleanor smiled at him once more, her eyes colder than a Paris winter and Athos watched as the Cardinal stalked off down the hall, waiting until he had gone before leading Eleanor onwards.

“Well that insult wasn’t exactly veiled.” He could not hide his amusement.

“It wasn’t meant to be he was rude, and I don’t like him.”

“He didn’t take kindly to it.”

“I don’t need to see him to know that; just as I don’t need to see you to know that you’re smirking.” He could not deny it and she laughed softly as they left the palace.

The Cardinal fumed as he stalked through the palace, he stepped into the throne room just as the King dismissed Treville and the other musketeers with him; the other three of the four that had become such thorns in his side. He glowered at them as they walked past him, already plotting to humiliate the girl and them.

Treville sat at the table with Eleanor as Anna cleared away their plates. Their conversation had been sparse, but that was how they had always been. He watched as Eleanor ran her fingertips over the wooden table and finally asked her what he had been wondering since they had been at the palace.

“Did the Cardinal speak to you at the palace?”

“Yes, why?”

“That will be why he had a face like thunder when we left. What did you say to him?”

“He was rude to your musketeer; I merely corrected his statement.” She was clearly unrepentant and Treville sighed.

“Be careful, Eleanor. He is spiteful and has a huge influence on the King; he will seek to humiliate you.”

“So, it seems will the King.” He saw her anger rising and placed a hand on her shoulder in an effort to quell the fire.

“I’m only asking you to take care; for my sanity as much as anything else.”

“Alright.” Her anger faded and she sat back in her chair.

“So, what impression have my musketeers made on you that you feel the need to defend them against the Cardinal?”

“They’ve treated me well and kindly. I haven’t yet seen any of the idiocy you wrote to me about.”

“Give them time; you hardly know them.”

“I’ve only really spoken to two of them.”

“Athos and Porthos; what do you think of them?” He watched her face as she thought.

“Porthos is kind, he has a reassuring presence about him; my horse liked him, which is surprising, she doesn’t like many people.”

“And Athos?” Eleanor took a breath before answering as though thinking carefully.

“He’s noble, that much is evident in his manner. But there’s something sad about him, like he’s been hurt deeply.”

“I’d forgotten just how well you can judge a man’s character.” He rose from his chair and kissed her cheek. “But now I must go, the King has asked to see me again this evening.”

“Goodnight, Father.”


	4. Chapter 4

When d’Artagnan reached the garrison the next morning, the first thing he saw was his three friends sat at the table. Their attention was fixed on the balcony outside Treville’s office. Anna sat with them, her eyes also fixed on the balcony above. He strolled over to join them and sat next to Porthos, reaching for the ale jug.

“What’s going on?”

“Captain asked to see his daughter this morning.” Porthos looked vaguely amused, a grin playing at the corners of his mouth.

“And whatever he’s said to her hasn’t gone down well.” Aramis tilted his head and d’Artagnan looked up as he heard Eleanor’s voice coming from the office. Although he could not hear the words, her tone was unmistakably angry. D’Artagnan shuddered, she did not sound like a woman to cross; but then again, he mused, neither was any other woman of his acquaintance.

Treville watched as Eleanor paced back and forth across his office, her fingers trailing along the wall to guide her. Understandably she was furious; he had not been happy with the request when it had been made and had known that he would face a fight. Although he had not spent much time with his daughter through her adult life, he knew her well enough to know that fighting fire with fire was not wise at this point. He watched as she prowled back and forth, waiting for her to speak. Eventually she did, not ceasing her pacing.

“I’m a woman, Father, not a performing monkey,” she spat the words across the room like a sour taste.

“I understand that you’re angry; but he is the King, if we refuse him-”

“He’ll what? Throw a tantrum?” Her hair flew as she spun.

“For want of a better phrase; yes. I’m sorry, Eleanor, I tried to dissuade him, but once the Cardinal has put an idea in his head...” She stopped pacing, her jaw set as she seemed to consider his words. After a moment she took a deep breath and spoke again.

“Fine, I’ll do it, if only to make your life a little easier.” Treville breathed a sigh of relief.

“Thank you.”

“I’ll need someone I can trust, not a court fop or an idiotic oaf,” he could hear the note of disdain in her voice.

“I’ll find you someone.”

“One of your musketeers?” Her tone was mocking, almost cruel, but then again, it often was when she was angry.

“I have one in mind.”

“Fine.” The word was short and clipped. She was still not happy, but she had conceded, which was the best he could hope for. He looked at her as he moved towards the door; she was glorious when she was angry, all fire and fury and a bearing worthy of royalty, just like her mother. He sighed and opened the door, preparing himself for the next fight.

“Athos.” The musketeer in question glanced up, fixing Treville with a steady gaze. His face betrayed nothing as he rose from the bench and made his way up the stairs. Both soldier and Captain ignored the barely controlled laughter of his friends, and a barely concealed comment from Aramis about heading into the lion’s den.

When Athos entered the office, Treville had moved to stand behind his desk, leaning his hands on it. Tension showed visibly in his shoulders and arms, and Athos thought he looked as though he was preparing for something he was reluctant to do. Eleanor stood by the wall, her face stony and her eyes hard. Displeasure rolled off of her in waves, and Athos was certain that he had seen softer looking statues. Unable to guess what had passed between father and daughter, Athos stood straight, his hat in his hands and waited for his Captain to speak.

“Athos, the King has asked to see Eleanor dance. Apparently he finds it highly fascinating that she can and wants to watch. There is a ball in three weeks’ time; he wants her to dance there,” he paused, watching his best soldier. “The only thing is, she needs someone to dance with who can be trusted.”

“Sir, I...” Athos trailed off, taken aback. He was prepared for his Captain to ask almost anything of him, but this was both unexpected and unwelcome. “I left that life behind me a long time ago.”

“And I am asking you to revisit it for a few moments for the sake of my daughter and my sanity.” Treville was clearly unhappy, and his resignation showed in his voice. “She needs someone who can be trusted to lead her through a dance properly and not leave her looking like a fool for the Cardinal to laugh at.”

“Do not think that you are the only one who is unhappy with this, Monsieur,” Eleanor’s voice cut through the air like an icy blade. “I have no desire to indulge the King in a childish whim, but it seems I must.” She moved across the room, her fingers finding the desk just before she reached it.

“Will you do it?” Athos glanced at Treville, surprised that his Captain had asked rather than ordered.

“Yes, Sir.” He watched as Treville’s shoulders sagged in relief.

“Thank you; I’ll put you on light duties for the next week, give you plenty of time to practice.” They both turned as Eleanor made a noise somewhat resembling a growl and turned, stalking across the room, and finding the door with surprising ease. Treville closed his eyes as she wrenched it open and then slammed it shut behind her. They heard her speaking to Anna and the voices of the two women fading as they left the garrison. Treville sighed before looking back at Athos. “She’s understandably unhappy, being used for the King’s amusement is not appealing to her.”

“Nor I, Sir.”

“I know, but you are the only one I could trust for this; although most of our regiment is made up of minor nobility who all had dancing masters, I don’t think any of them could handle her when she’s in a rage, she’d tear them to pieces.” He sat down and rubbed his eyes.

“Her anger is justified, Sir. She may be blind, but that does not make her a source for amusement.” Treville looked up at him, something akin to surprise on his face.

“You never know, with that sentiment you may just get through to her. She’ll calm down in a few hours, go over to the house this evening and see if she’ll practice with you. She loves to dance so with any luck her enjoyment may just overtake her rage.”

It was with slight trepidation that Athos knocked on the door of Treville’s house. He was uncertain of the reception that he would get, and God help him if she were still in a rage. He did not have Aramis’ easy way with words, nor Porthos’ shy charm. In fact, he had not really conversed socially with a woman since Ninon. Although he had not spoken to Eleanor much, he could already tell that she was as unlike Ninon as fire was to ice. They shared the same strong will, but where Ninon was cool and regal in her manner, her fine breeding apparent in every word and gesture; Eleanor was fiery, her rage untempered.

He remembered something his father had once told him. “ _Beware red headed women, my boy. No matter how calm they seem there is always fire running through their blood. The Lord was kind enough to show it in their hair by way of a warning.”_

“Damned chestnut mares,” he muttered under his breath, sighing as he waited. Eventually he heard footsteps and he tipped his hat as Anna opened the door.

“Good evening, Madame; is Madame Ardoin home?” The woman looked at him shrewdly, her face crinkling in a knowing smile.

“You mean has she calmed down and will she dance with you hmm? Well you’d better come in.”

“Is she...?” He trailed off, uncertain of how to phrase it and Anna chuckled.

“Calm? Yes. Happy? No. But she will do as her father has asked.” She turned and bustled down the hall, beckoning him to follow her. She led him through the house to the dining room and left him there. The room was large, and the table had been pushed against one wall, leaving the floor clear.

Athos had only been waiting a few moments when he heard soft footsteps. He turned as Eleanor entered the room and quickly reviewed his previous opinion. As she stepped into the room, her bearing was as regal as any Queen. The candlelight shone softly, illuminating her marble skin, and turning her hair to the colour of beech leaves in autumn. He was relieved to see that her expression had softened a little, now it was neutral as opposed to that of a fury.

“Madame Ardoin.” He removed his hat and she turned her head towards him as he spoke.

“Monsieur,” her tone was civil if not overly welcoming, “we cleared the room; I hope it will serve.”

“It will.”

“I suppose we had best begin then.” Her resigned tone saddened him, and he had stepped forwards before he knew it.

“Madame, I would like you to know that, although I have been ordered to do this, I do not, in any way believe that the King is right to ask this of you.” A brief look of surprise crossed her face before she spoke.

“You will still do it though,” her tone was still resigned.

“Only at the request of the Captain; I cannot refuse him.” She smiled sadly and nodded.

“Nor I.”

“Then let us begin.”

It did not take Athos long to work out that this was not like any dancing he had ever taken part in. Eleanor needed to be carefully guided regarding where he stood. Movements, steps and turns had to be precise so as not to disorient her. Thankfully and somewhat surprisingly; she proved to be a patient teacher, carefully helping him to both remember what he had almost forgotten and to learn new things.

Although Eleanor seemed willing to carry out Treville’s request, her initial reluctance was evident. Her touch on his hand was hesitant, and he felt her tense as he lifted her. Athos wanted nothing more than to remove his hands from her waist and leave her alone as she clearly wished to be. He felt a bubble of anger at the thoughtless King for demanding this of her. 

As Treville had predicted, it did not take long for her natural enjoyment to show. When Eleanor spun for the first time, he was caught off guard. For she smiled so brightly, that he could only liken it to the sun breaking through the clouds after a storm.

The night had grown dark by the time Athos made his way to the tavern and wove his way through the crowd to the table where his friends were sat. They had seen him coming, and as he sat down Porthos pushed a glass of wine towards him.

“So how was Madame Ardoin?” Aramis smirked as he spoke, ignoring the glare that Athos shot him.

“Well she must have calmed down.” Porthos chuckled and took a gulp of his wine.

“What do you mean by that?” At Athos’ tone, Porthos choked and had the grace to look repentant.

“Well you’re still in one piece.”

“I think they mean she’s hot tempered,” d’Artagnan interjected helpfully, and Athos thought for a moment before nodding.

“Well I suppose she is red-headed.”

“Ah now that my friend is where you have missed something.” Aramis grinned as three pairs of eyes turned to him.

“Aye?” Porthos furrowed his brow in confusion.

“She is not just a red-head.”

“Explain.” Athos was growing bored.

“One-” Aramis held up a finger, “-she is a woman.”

“Well we’d figured that out.” Porthos raised an eyebrow, and Aramis glared before continuing.

“They are tricky creatures at best. Two; as previously stated, she is a red-head and they are notoriously difficult to handle, much like bombs with five second fuses.”

“Anything else?” Athos drained his glass and reached for the bottle.

“Finally, and most importantly she is from Gascony and therefore has a temper shorter than courtesans’ skirts.”

“Hey.” They laughed at d’Artagnan’s indignation, and Porthos clapped the boy on the shoulder.

“You can’t deny it, boy.”

“No, I can’t, which is why Athos had better watch out next time she’s in a temper; she might yet tear him apart.” They laughed as Athos sighed and drunk his wine, wondering what he had ever done to be stuck with such idiots.

Over the next three weeks Athos returned to the house each evening. With each visit Eleanor greeted him a little more warmly. By the end of the first week her face was no longer stony when he arrived. During the second week he was shocked when she greeted him with a soft voice and a warm smile. They would practice all evening, her hands feather light on his as they moved back and forth across the room. She grew to trust him, allowing him to guide her through the steps of the dance without hesitation. He was relieved when she no longer tensed as he placed his hands on her waist to lift her. During each practice, Anna would bring them wine. Initially they would drink without speaking, the silences cold and awkward, but over the weeks, Eleanor warmed to him and would even strike up the occasional conversation. After each practice session Athos would join his brothers in the tavern and ignore their good-natured comments about playing with fire.

They had two days until the ball and the night was warm. Athos was in his shirt sleeves, having long since discarded his leather jerkin. Their dancing had increased in speed; the fast turns and lifts leaving them both breathing hard. They were relieved when Anna brought them wine and they stood, drinking it in a not uncomfortable silence. After a few moments Eleanor put her glass down and spoke hesitantly.

“Monsieur, would you permit me to see you?” Athos frowned at her; confused.

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

“I would like to know what the man I am dancing with looks like; but to know that I would need to touch you and I have found that it is better to ask first,” her voice was soft. She had a slight nervousness about her, as though fearful that her request might be refused. Athos could not prevent a small smile.

“I would be no gentleman at all if I were to refuse a lady such a request.” She smiled and he put his glass down, unsure what to expect as she reached out a hand.

The tips of Eleanor’s fingers brushed the back of his hand briefly then travelled up his arm, tickling his skin through his shirt. He stayed perfectly still as her fingers slipped over the lace of his shirt collar and traced over the skin of his neck, pausing for a moment over his pulse. Slowly, Eleanor took a step towards him, reducing the distance so that her body almost touched his. Athos could feel her breath through the open neck of his shirt. She raised her other hand and he felt her run her light touch over the line of his jaw. Her hands slipped up into his hair, and he felt her comb her fingers through it. Carefully, slowly she traced her way down his face, her lips parted in concentration as she built an idea in her mind of what he looked like. One hand brushed softly across his cheek, and he had to stop himself twitching as she ran a finger down his nose. He caught the faintest scent of lavender from her hands. Slowly she ran her thumb over his lips, gently tracing the faint scar, and Athos swallowed, fighting to stay still under her touch. After a few more moments she pulled her hands away and smiled. For a moment Athos could still feel her touch on his skin and shook himself.

“Thank you, Monsieur. Now I have an idea of what you look like.”

“Then I apologise, for there are many with more pleasing features than I.”

“Then you have a very low opinion of yourself for I would not have said that.” She tilted her head and one corner of her mouth lifted in a crooked smile.

“You are being kind I think, Madame.”

“Please, call me Eleanor.”

“As you wish.” She smiled and they finished the wine before continuing their dancing.

Neither of them noticed Anna as she watched from the hallway.


	5. Chapter 5

The day before the ball, Treville listened with growing frustration as the King demanded the highest level of security to ensure the safety of his guests. The monarch had little to no idea of what was required for the security, but he liked to sound as though he did.

“I assure you, Sire, the musketeers will be both inside and outside the palace; they will guard against anything that might come.” He suppressed a sigh of exasperation; the King was the same before every ball and function.

“I do hope so, Treville. I don’t want anything to spoil this ball; could you imagine how annoying it would be if we didn’t get to watch your daughter dance? I am quite looking forward to it as the highlight of my evening.”

“She is looking forward to dancing for the King I presume,” the Cardinal’s silky tone grated on Treville like sand in a wound.

“She is ready to do as she has been asked.” He bowed as the King dismissed him, trying desperately not to grit his teeth too visibly, or look at the smirking face of the Cardinal as he turned away and headed down the corridor.

“Captain Treville.” A voice sounded behind him and he turned, surprised to see the Queen standing behind him.

“Your Majesty.” He bowed low, unsure as to what she might require of him.

“Your daughter will need a dress for the ball. One of my ladies has the perfect one that she can borrow.”

“My thanks, Majesty.” Treville did not know what else to say; he had always known the Queen to be a gentle, kind soul. But this act of generosity was unlooked for and unexpected. The Queen stepped forwards and placed a slim hand gently on his arm.

“I wish I could have stopped this ordeal for her and for you.”

“Once the King had the idea there was no stopping him.”

“The Cardinal more likely than the King I think,” the dislike in her voice was not quite concealed. She rested a delicate hand over where the new life inside her grew, not yet showing under her heavy dress.

“I think she’ll do fine.”

“I hope so. I will arrange for the dress to be sent.” He bowed low and she turned away, leaving him marvelling at her kindness.

Constance carefully adjusted the corset on the dress that the Queen had leant Eleanor. The girl stood quietly, allowing her to do what was required. Celine, one of the other ladies had not been pleased at being told to lend the dress out, muttering under her breath as she handed it over. But as Constance looked at the girl in front of her, she thought that the dress was far more suited to its current wearer.

“The Queen wishes that you didn’t have to do this, she said she would have stopped it if she was able.”

“She is kindness itself,” Eleanor’s voice was quiet.

“There, all done.” Constance finished tying the last ribbon and stepped back to admire her handiwork. “If it helps at all, you look beautiful.” She was rewarded with a smile and pitied the girl in front of her.

Athos followed the Captain as they made their way to collect Eleanor for the ball. Porthos, Aramis and d’Artagnan were already at the palace with the rest of the regiment, guarding against any danger to the King and Queen or their guests.

Anna opened the door and they followed her to the dining room, which was empty.

“Is she ready?” Treville glanced enquiringly at the woman, and she raised an eyebrow at him before clucking her tongue.

“She will be, you wait here, and I’ll go and see.” She levelled her gaze at them, daring them to contradict her, nodding approvingly when they took of their hats and stood quietly. Treville smiled and shook his head as she bustled off.

“Best do as we’re told.” He sat down and placed his hat on the table, leaning back in the chair. “I always forget how long it takes for a woman to get ready.”

“I believe it is their prerogative, Sir.” Treville gave a snort of laughter and Athos sat down, preparing himself to wait.

They did not have to wait long before they heard footsteps, and stood as Anna entered, leading Eleanor behind her. As she stepped into the room Athos caught his breath. The dress the Queen had lent her was finely cut, her already slender waist pulled in by the bodice and wide silk skirts that flowed and rippled as she moved. The rich green fabric contrasted perfectly with her fair skin and red hair, and delicate silver embroidery caught the candlelight. Anna had brushed her hair until it shone and pinned it up, leaving loose curls tumbling around her face.

Treville stepped forwards to greet his daughter and Anna stepped away, moving across the room. It was only when she dug her elbow into his ribs that Athos realised his mouth was open. Promptly he shut it before Treville could see, and tried his hardest to ignore Anna’s grin.

They made their way to the palace, joining the throngs of lords, ladies, and courtiers already there. In the bright, noisy ballroom Athos saw his friends on guard, already standing at the edges of the crowd, their sharp eyes watching for anything amiss. Treville was beckoned over by the King, and touched Eleanor on the shoulder, excusing himself and leaving her in Athos’ care.

“Can I interest you in a glass of wine?” Athos spoke quietly to her.

“You can indeed,” she sounded relieved and he quickly fetched two glasses, carefully placing one in her hand.

They moved through the room, her hand resting lightly on his arm. As they walked, Athos saw the eyes of many men following Eleanor. He could not blame them, for tonight she was especially beautiful, but it stirred a protectiveness in him, nonetheless. It did not take long for people to approach them; curious about the girl they had never seen at court who was escorted by a musketeer. On the most part they were fascinated, much like the King, and gathered around the pair. Eleanor smiled and conversed politely, betraying nothing; but every once in a while, Athos felt her grip on his arm tighten.

Treville saw the Queen beckon him over and moved to stand beside her. She glanced at him briefly before turning her gaze back to the crowds in the room.

“Your daughter looks beautiful tonight, Captain.”

“That is thanks in part to your generosity, your Majesty.”

“The dress suits her.” Anne watched as the girl conversed quietly with Athos.

“I’m sure she would like the opportunity to thank you herself.”

“Yes, I would very much like to talk with her.” They turned as the King stood and the room fell silent.

“My dear guests, tonight we have something wonderful to see; the blind daughter of Captain Treville will dance with Athos the musketeer.” He grinned, clapping his hands and the hall was filled with applause as the floor was cleared. Louis gestured at Athos and all eyes turned to them as he led Eleanor to the middle of the floor. A moment later the musicians began to play.

Aramis watched as Eleanor curtsied to Athos, and he bowed before taking her by the hand. They moved across the floor, their feet light and their steps in perfect time. Aramis noted how Athos almost never broke contact with Eleanor, even if just their fingertips were touching. He watched as Athos stepped back, breaking their touch, and Eleanor spun gracefully, her skirts flying in waves of green. Athos caught her hand as she stopped, and a sound of exclamation echoed through the hall as he put his hands on her waist, lifting her high before setting her gently on her feet. They continued to dance, enthralling everyone as they moved together in perfect time. By the time Eleanor curtsied to Athos once more and he bowed in return, her cheeks were flushed and her lips were parted. Whether from exertion or something else, Aramis was not certain.

Athos turned to face the thrones, his gentle touch guiding Eleanor. He bowed and Eleanor sank into a low curtsey. The King burst into gleeful applause, closely followed by the rest of the hall. Treville did not miss that the Cardinal barely touched his hands together.

“I never knew he could be so graceful,” Porthos sounded amazed.

“Me neither.” Aramis watched as his friend led Eleanor away from the floor. “But, I suppose you don’t wield a sword like he does without at least a measure of grace.”

“Fair point.” They watched as courtiers crowded Athos and Eleanor once more, and Aramis saw Treville watching them also.

Treville watched as Athos and Eleanor stood in the centre of a crowd of chattering guests. He studied the pair carefully. They each showed an outward countenance that was calm and polite, yet he could see signs that he recognised in each of them as warnings. There was a set to Athos’ shoulders that only appeared when he was exercising more iron self-control than normal, and Eleanor’s polite smiles did not reach her eyes. Quickly he slipped through the crowds until he reached them and addressed the courtiers that surrounded them.

“You will have to forgive them; the Queen has asked to speak to them.” Ignoring the disappointed looks, Treville turned away and Athos and Eleanor followed close behind.

“Did she really, Father?” Eleanor was relieved, but there was also a hint of amusement in her tone.

“Well she didn’t ask to see you at this exact moment in time but I’m sure she won’t mind.” It pleased him to see her smile, and he took her arm as they approached the thrones. They stopped just in front of the Queen, and at a gentle squeeze of Treville’s hand, Eleanor sunk into a deep curtsey.

“The dress looks well on you, Eleanor.”

“My thanks for your kindness in lending it, Majesty.”

“I enjoyed that immensely.” The King was grinning inanely. “Who would have thought that a soldiers’ daughter could be so graceful, don’t you think Cardinal?”

“Indeed, Madame Ardoin was very...elegant.” The Cardinal’s pause was exquisitely timed, and he smiled coldly. Athos bristled internally at the insult and saw Treville’s jaw clench.

“Indeed, she was, wasn’t she?” The King grinned, missing the Cardinal’s insult. Athos glanced at Eleanor and saw her smile sweetly.

“Indeed, I find that being able to dance elegantly can lend one an elegance of character; perhaps his eminence should try it.” The King grinned and Athos tried not to smirk as the Cardinal bristled.

“Well she has the measure of you, Armand. Enjoy the rest of the ball, Madame Ardoin.” He waved his hand, dismissing them, and Treville took Eleanor’s hand, leading her away from the thrones.

As they moved back across the room, Treville turned to Athos. “If you’ll excuse us for a moment, Athos; I need a moment with my daughter,” his tone was calm but there was an underlying tension that brooked no argument. Athos inclined his head and moved swiftly back to where he could see Aramis, Porthos and d’Artagnan at the edge of the room. His friends greeted him with smiles, and Porthos clapped a large hand on his shoulder.

“Once again my friend, you astound us all,” Aramis’ tone was one of quiet admiration.

“I merely did as I was ordered.” Athos face was expressionless, his eyes fixed on where Treville and Eleanor stood.

“Well it made the evening more interesting, if nothing else we got to see her put the Cardinal in his place.” Porthos could barely suppress a grin. He glanced at Aramis, rolling his eyes as he followed his friend’s gaze towards the almost indecently low neckline of a passing duchess.

Treville led Eleanor through the crowd, guiding her away from curious nobles. Finally, he spoke, his voice low and furious.

“I told you not to antagonise him.” He nodded cordially at a passing guest, fighting to keep his fury from his face.

“I don’t care if he is the most powerful man in France; I will not stand and smile sweetly while he insults me for his own amusement.” Although her face was neutral, her eyes were hard. She abruptly fell silent as Treville squeezed her hand in warning.

“Captain Treville, what a pleasure.” The voice Eleanor heard was a silky drawl, the tone polite but the underlying disdain clear.

“Rochefort,” Treville’s reply was clipped and barely civil, he looked away for just a second, flicking his gaze towards where Athos stood with the others.

“An enchanting dance, Madame.” Rochefort’s cold eyes roved over Eleanor, assessing and calculating. Eleanor inclined her head gracefully as though in thanks, but kept her expression carefully neutral; she had heard the distaste in her fathers’ voice and there was something about Rochefort’s tone that set her on edge.

Before Rochefort could say anything else, Athos appeared, summoned by Treville’s glance. He swept his gaze over Rochefort, allowing his nobility to show through for just a moment. At a nod from Treville he reached out, placing a gentle hand on Eleanor’s arm, and guiding her away. She went willingly, recognising his touch and taking comfort in it.

It was late after the ball had finished, and the guests had left or retired to their rooms, but a light still burned in the Cardinals’ office. He sat at his desk, resting his chin on steepled fingers as he regarded Rochefort carefully.

“You’re sure it was about her?”

“Her name is throughout Paris and she’s easy to find; there can be no mistake.”

“For your sake I hope so. Do not be so rash as to assume there is no room for mistakes.” The Cardinal fixed Rochefort with a stare that gave the clear message that mistakes would not be tolerated.

“What would you like to do?” Rochefort folded his arms and leant against the wall, watching as the Cardinal rose, moving across the room to the window.

"Captain Treville clearly loves his daughter." The Cardinal gazed out of the window; his expression thoughtful.  
  
"It would appear so." It was not a concept Rochefort had any interest in at all. He had three bastard children in France that he knew about, and had not a shred of care for any of them.

“I would imagine that if anything were to happen to her then it would break him.”

“Leaving you as sole influence.”

“Precisely.” The Cardinal turned, a cold smile on his face. “Do nothing; if this happens it will work in our favour, but I will not dirty my hands with it.” He turned, waving a hand to dismiss Rochefort, and sweeping from the room.

Rochefort thought about the girl as he made his way back to his rooms, she had been distant and aloof, barely speaking a single word to him. He despised Treville and his musketeers and this girl was no better, a true daughter of Treville. For all that though, she was beautiful, with skin like cream and hair like fire. He imagined for a moment what it would be like to break her fiery spirit and bend her to his will. He closed his hand, wondering how it would feel to close his fingers slowly around her throat and watch the distress in her blind eyes as he crushed her slender neck. A small smile formed on his face as he thought about it; yes, he would enjoy that very much.


	6. Chapter 6

The air was warm, and Eleanor relished the feel of sunlight on her skin as Anna led her through the market. The streets were busy, and the air was humming with the sound of people; footsteps on the cobbles, voices of traders shouting their wares, and people haggling over prices. After the previous night of being the centre of attention at the court it felt good to be just one more in a crowd. She waited and listened as Anna haggled for something, smiling as the woman wore the trader down to a lower price.

They turned to continue along the street and had not gone more than a few steps when Eleanor heard pounding footsteps. A moment later she stumbled back as someone crashed into her, almost knocking her from her feet. She heard Anna shouting after them, scolding them for their carelessness. Eleanor reached out a hand, seeking to calm the woman before she worked herself up into a fury.

“Anna, it’s alright.”

“Careless oaf, he should not be running on such a crowded street.” She placed her hands-on Eleanor’s arms and the girl could feel her scrutiny. “Are you hurt, child?”

“No, I don’t think...ouch.” Eleanor flinched as she felt pain across the back of her wrist and ran her fingers across the skin. She felt warm stickiness and heard Anna cluck her tongue in disapproval.

“Stupid oaf must have been holding something sharp; he’s sliced your wrist open. Come along, let’s get you home and get that seen to.” She clucked her tongue once more and led her charge through the streets.

Eleanor sat at the table, absentmindedly rubbing the back of her wrist; although Anna had washed and dressed the cut it throbbed with a constant, dull ache. Despite the warm air that flowed through the window she shivered a little. Footsteps sounded, and a moment later Anna bustled through the door.

“Here you are, my dear.” Eleanor heard Anna place a plate on the table in front of her and a moment later the scent of stewed meat wafted through the air. Ordinarily she would have enjoyed the smell, but today it made her feel nauseous. She placed a hand over her mouth, desperately trying to fight the sickening feeling that rose within her.

“Are you alright, child? You’ve gone whiter than a sheet.” In an instant Anna was beside her, a motherly hand resting on her head.

“You’ll have to forgive me, Anna; I don’t think I can eat dinner today.”

“You don’t look fit to eat anything. You’ll go to bed at once and rest; come along, you’ll feel better in the morning.” Eleanor said nothing and merely allowed Anna to lead her to her room and help her to bed. She was already sleeping when Anna closed the door.

Athos and Porthos strolled through the streets, the early morning sunlight offering little warmth. They paused at one house, leaning against a wall to wait as Aramis hauled himself from the bed of a young comtess he had met at the ball. After a short while he appeared, pushing his hat onto his head and a rakish grin on his face. Athos sighed and pushed himself away from the wall, the others falling into step beside him as they made their way to the garrison. As they rounded a corner, they were stunned to see Anna running towards them, at full tilt. She almost crashed into Porthos and stood in front of them, gasping for breath.

“Whoa there, what’s the hurry?” The big musketeer took her arm, steadying her.

“It’s the young mistress; she’s sick, I can’t wake her.” She looked at the musketeers as they exchanged glances.

“Take us to her.” Aramis had lost all trace of his former grin.

“Porthos, inform the Captain.” Athos noted that for once the big musketeer did not grumble at having to be the one to tell Treville bad news. Instead he nodded and turned, his feet pounding on the cobbles. “Madame, let us go.”

They followed Anna through the streets, arriving at the house at a run. Quickly she led them through the house and up the stairs. She opened a door, ushering them in, and they realised at once why Anna had come to find them. Eleanor lay in her bed, unmoving, a maid bathing her head with a damp cloth.

"How is she?" Aramis tossed his hat to one side, making his way swiftly round to the other side of the bed.

"She still hasn't woken, Sir." The maid looked on the verge of tears and Aramis gently placed a hand on hers, his expression kind.

"I will do all I can to help her." The girl looked up him, her blue eyes wide and Anna stepped forwards.

"You can go now, Alice," her voice was firm but not unkind and the maid nodded, glancing once more at Aramis before leaving the room.

Aramis sat on the side of the bed; his dark eyes fixed on Eleanor. Her normally fair skin was ashen, the usual rose flush in her cheeks gone. He placed a hand on her cheek, it was cold. If he had not seen the shallow rise and fall of her breaths, he might have thought her already gone. Carefully, he pressed his fingers against her neck, his concern mounting when he could barely feel the flutter of life. He watched her still face as he thought, running through all the medical knowledge he possessed to try and find an answer. A thought struck him, and he looked up sharply.

“When did this start?”

“She started to look unwell at dinner yesterday, so I put her to bed. She was sleeping when I left her last night.”

"Is there any way that something could have been put into her food?"

"She ate nothing, and I prepare all her meals myself, it's not possible." Anna stopped abruptly and her eyes narrowed as she realised what Aramis had meant. "Are you saying she has been poisoned?"

"It's the only thing I can think of." Aramis glanced at Athos. The elder musketeer had not moved since they had entered the room but had stood and watched, sharp eyes taking in every detail. Suddenly he moved, striding to the side of the bed, and reaching across. He gently grasped Eleanor's arm where the edge of a bandage showed above the covers. Pulling her arm towards him, Athos examined the wrapping that covered her wrist before glancing back at Anna.

"What's this?"

"Some fool ran into her in the market and sliced her wrist open." The musketeers glanced at each other before Athos began to carefully unwrap the bandage, quickly exposing the cut. He heard Anna gasp as he pulled the last cloth away and it was easy to see why she had; the cut was red and angry. He did not need to touch it to feel the heat.

“It would seem that what happened at the market was no accident.” He raised his eyes to meet Aramis’ gaze; the other musketeer’s face was grim.

Before any of them could say anything else they heard what sounded like a stampede on the stairs. A moment later the door burst open to reveal Treville, closely followed by Porthos and d'Artagnan. A flash of horror crossed his face as he saw his daughter, and Athos shifted quickly out of the way as the Captain crossed the room.

“What’s wrong with her?” He directed his question at Aramis, the musketeer met his gaze steadily.

“As far as I can tell she’s been poisoned, Sir.”

“Poisoned?”

“It seems someone bumped into her at the market and gave her this.” Aramis indicated the cut.

“Can you save her?”

“I’m not skilled with poisons, Sir. But I know a physician who is.”

“Bring him,” Treville’s order was terse and Aramis leapt to his feet and left the room without another word, taking Porthos with him.

Athos and d’Artagnan watched as Treville began to pace the room, running a hand over his close-cropped hair.

“Sit down, Captain,” Athos’ firm tone caught Treville off guard and he stopped dead, staring at his musketeer dumbly. Athos merely raised an eyebrow and inclined his head towards the chair beside the bed. To d’Artagnan’s surprise, Treville did not argue but sat heavily in the chair, leaning forwards with his elbows on his knees and his eyes fixed on his daughter’s ashen face.

“Who would do this?” His voice was quiet disbelief, all his calm reasoning gone.

“Someone with a grudge against you, perhaps.” When Treville looked up, his face appalled, Athos continued. “It is no secret that she is in Paris, thanks to the King’s fascination with her. If someone wanted to attack you then what better way than through her?” The Captain nodded and sighed.

“I suppose I’ve made enough enemies over the years.” Although he had known the risk in bringing her to Paris, he could still scarcely believe that someone would stoop so low as to attack his daughter.

“We’ll find out who it is.” D’Artagnan and Treville looked at Athos sharply. They knew that he rarely made promises, especially ones such as this. They were difficult to keep and he was not a man to break his word. Treville did not know what to say; he knew Athos to be fiercely loyal and protective, but the man seldom voiced it. He was saved the trouble of a reply when the door burst open and Aramis ran in, followed by a small, flustered looking man and Porthos.

The little man did not bother with introductions but hurried forwards, barely waiting for Treville to move before making his way to the side of the bed. He placed a hand on Eleanor’s head before looking at her hand. They watched as he sniffed the cut and muttered to himself as he pressed his fingers to her wrist. Finally, he straightened, running a hand over his balding head, his pale eyes narrowed in concern.

“Well your man was right, she’s been poisoned.”

“Can you treat it?” Treville’s stare was hard in an effort to disguise the worry.

“It would be easier if she had ingested it but yes, I believe I can.” He held out a hand and Porthos stepped forwards, handing him a leather satchel. Quickly he rummaged through it and pulled out a small bottle and beaker. Carefully he measured some of the liquid from the bottle into the beaker before placing the bottle back into his bag, and pulling out several cloth bags.

“Get her to drink that.” He glanced up at Anna who hovered in the doorway. “Madame, I need a pestle and mortar, also hot water.”

“Come to the kitchen, doctor.” He nodded and followed her, leaving the musketeers alone.

Treville picked up the beaker, looking doubtfully at the dark liquid as he swirled it. They watched as he gently slid an arm under Eleanor’s shoulders and lifted her, carefully sliding to sit beside her. Gently he placed the beaker to her lips and trickled a drop of the liquid into her mouth. She moaned softly, turning her head away. He murmured quietly to her and persisted gently, pressing the cup to her lips once more. Slowly, carefully he gave his daughter the rest, drop by drop, and each time they were relieved when her throat moved as she swallowed.

Treville had just put the empty beaker back on the table and settled Eleanor back against the bolster when the door opened and the physician entered, clutching a small stone bowl filled with a sweet-smelling paste. He made his way back over to the bed, nodding approvingly at the empty beaker. Carefully, he smeared the paste over the cut on Eleanor’s wrist and wrapped it once more in clean bandages. After a while longer he stood, and began to pack his things back into his bag.

“She may develop a fever in the next day or so; it will show us that her body is fighting.”

“Will she live?” Treville’s voice was quiet, almost pleading and the physician sighed, looking on the Captain with a gentle pity.

“I’m afraid that there is a chance she might and a chance she might not. I have done all I can, the rest is up to her.” Treville’s shoulders slumped and the physician picked up his bag, he paused by the bed and turned, glancing at Treville where he sat motionless. “Fetch me if she really takes a turn for the worse, but I warn you it may well seem far worse before it gets better.” He turned for the door, shaking his head, and Aramis followed. The others could hear the low murmur of their voices as they descended the stairs.

Athos glanced at Treville and sighed, he turned, catching Porthos’ eye and inclined his head towards the door, the unspoken message clear. Porthos nodded, and with one last glance at their Captain, turned and left the room, taking d’Artagnan with him. Athos turned to Treville, the man still had not moved; he sat still as stone, his face pale and his eyes fixed on Eleanor’s face.

“Captain.” Treville did not move and Athos wondered for a moment if the man had heard him. He was just about to speak again when the Captain stirred.

“He said she might not survive.”

“And he said she might; she’s strong”

“What if she’s not strong enough?”

“She is.” Athos was taken aback, he had never seen Treville so unsure; the man was the solid base on which the Musketeer unit was built on, and the example they all looked up to. His word was law, and they loved and feared him, because the one thing he never did was falter. Athos squared his shoulders and stepped forward. “We will watch her, Captain, and ensure no further harm comes to her.”

Treville looked up at him and Athos could see the war in his face. He wanted his daughter protected and would have liked to watch her himself. But his unruly regiment still needed their commander, much as schoolboys needed their master. He sighed, he knew also that if he stayed away from the court then the Cardinal would whisper into the King’s ear and spread his poison, and heaven only knew what trouble Rochefort would cause. No, he could not guard her himself, and although he hated to admit it his duty to his King came first. Finally, he nodded.

“Alright, you take shifts, two of you here at all times, the others looking for whoever did this. Make sure Aramis is always here; he’ll know what to do if...” he trailed off, unable to phrase the next words.

“I’ll see to it.” Treville sighed and nodded before rising from his chair. He paused, gently laying a hand on Eleanor’s hair before moving towards the door. Athos opened it for him and stood aside before following him out.

Porthos and d’Artagnan stood along the hallway, leaning against the rail at the top of the stairs and Athos moved to join them as Treville made his way to the staircase. As he reached the top step the Captain turned, looking up to meet Athos’ gaze. The musketeer nodded once, giving his silent assurance that they would watch over Eleanor.

They watched as he made his way down the stairs. He passed Aramis on the way, and the musketeer stood aside, nodding respectfully before making his way up to the landing where his friends stood. Athos waited until he heard the door of the house close before he spoke.

“He’s asked us to stay with her.”

“Probably for the best,” Porthos grunted. “Don’t think I’ve ever seen him that shaken up.”

“Hardly surprising, his daughter’s been attacked,” d’Artagnan’s tone was dry.

“One of us can check on him in the morning. Aramis, what did the physician tell you?” The Spaniard looked sharply at Athos before shaking his head. He felt he should have known that although he could conceal his worry from Treville, Athos could read him like a book, his sharp eyes missing nothing.

“I asked him if there was anything else that we could do to help her,” Aramis’ voice was quiet.

“And...” Porthos turned, scrutinising his friend.

“He said to pray for her.” At Aramis’ words, Athos sighed and closed his eyes. Every physician he had come across only ever suggested prayer when there was little hope left. One glance at the others told him that they were thinking the exact same thing. After a moment he became aware of their gazes on him, waiting for his leadership.

“Alright, we’ll watch her as we said we would. At least one of us with her at all times, and the other two looking for the culprit. Aramis, the Captain wants you to stay here in case anything happens. I’ll take first watch.” The others nodded, and Porthos made his way down the stairs, followed by d’Artagnan. Aramis hesitated on the top step, watching Athos as he turned and made his way towards Eleanor’s room. After a moment he shook his head and turned, following his friends downstairs.


	7. Chapter 7

Treville stood in the palace gardens, only his iron discipline keeping him steady. He watched impatiently as the King shot bird after bird, the monarch grinning inanely as each one fell to the floor in a puff of feathers. Treville sensed the Cardinal watching him and did his best to ignore his calculating stare. Eventually even the King noticed, turning to look at his advisors and handing the gun off to a servant.

“Has Treville grown an extra head or something, Cardinal? I can’t think of any other reason for you to watch him so intently.”

“I was wondering at the absence of Captain Treville’s usual four with him today. Instead he has brought these...others.” The Cardinal’s pause was exquisitely timed as he waved a hand dismissively at the musketeers that flanked Treville.

“They are elsewhere today, but I assure you that these men are as capable as any musketeer in the regiment.”

“Ah yes...capable.” The Cardinal smirked, and Treville saw Rochefort barely suppressing a smirk.

“Out of interest, where are they?” Rochefort’s quiet voice slipped into the conversation like a snake. Treville suppressed a sigh; although he did not have to answer to Rochefort, the King was watching intently, and it was clear he expected an answer.

“My daughter was attacked in the street yesterday and poisoned. She is fighting for her life, and my men are trying to find out who did it, lest they prove a threat to anyone else.”

“You mean to say that you have King’s musketeers playing nursemaid to your daughter, and running around on your personal errands?” Rochefort’s face was the perfect picture of outrage. Treville gripped the hilt of his sword in an effort not to punch the man.

“Now now, Rochefort.” The King had stepped forwards and held up a hand. “If a poisoner is running around in my city, then we want them stopped. We can’t have ladies being attacked in the street, especially such rare creatures as Madame Ardoin.” He stopped Rochefort’s angry protest with a look, and turned to Treville, placing an arm about his shoulders, and moving a few paces away from the others. “Is your daughter very sick, Treville?”

“She is on a knife edge, Majesty.”

“Then I cannot think of any better men than those four to protect her. But make sure the culprit is hunted down quickly, I don’t want them in the city.”

“I’ll see to it, Sire.” The King nodded and smiled before turning away, and Treville stared after him. Sometimes the man surprised him with a show of maturity and kindness. It was at times like these when he thought there might be some hope for him yet.

It had just begun to grow dark in Eleanor’s room, as the last rays of sunlight began to fade. D’Artagnan watched as Anna moved softly around the room, lighting candles that bathed everything in a soft, flickering glow. She paused, gazing at Eleanor where she lay, unmoving; d’Artagnan thought for a moment that she might be about to speak. Anna turned as footsteps sounded on the stairs, and a moment later the door opened and d’Artagnan rose to his feet as Treville entered the room.

“How is she?” He moved to the bed, and d’Artagnan moved swiftly out of his way.

“No change, Sir.” D’Artagnan watched as Treville sat beside the bed, resting one hand gently on Eleanor’s fiery hair. Anna blew out her taper, and slipped quietly from the room, closing the door quietly behind her. When she was gone, Treville spoke, his voice barely audible.

“What if she’s not strong enough for this?”

“I believe she is, Sir; she’s not giving up yet so it’s hardly fair to give up on her.” Treville looked up sharply, and d’Artagnan wondered for a moment if he had gone too far. “She’s your daughter, have faith that she might be stronger than you think.” The soft, honey scent of beeswax from the candles filled the room as d’Artagnan sighed, and sat opposite the Captain, settling himself to wait.

Porthos settled into the seat next to the bed just as the first rays of dawn entered the room. He thought he saw a faint blush of colour on Eleanor’s cheek and glanced out the window as the sky lightened to dusky pink, the clouds edged with the early golden light. A faint moan turned his attention back to the bed. Eleanor’s skin had flushed, and as he watched she moaned again, her head shifting uneasily from side to side. Gently he placed a hand on her cheek, and was unsurprised at the heat that radiated from her skin.

“There’s that fever.” He reached for the cloth that floated in a bowl of water on the table, and gently brushed it across the girls’ head and cheek. “Good girl, you keep fighting.” Eleanor moaned softly and he soothed her with soft murmurs.

They continued to take turns to watch Eleanor as she fought the poison, her body burning with fever. Each of them took up residence in the house, taking their turn to bathe her burning skin and soothe the fever dreams that plagued her. When they were not with Eleanor, they combed the city, listening in taverns and questioning everyone they knew in an attempt to find some clue about what had happened. Thus far they had been without success. As they watched over Eleanor, so Anna watched over them; keeping them well supplied with food and drink and on occasion, shooing them to the beds she had set up for their use.

Treville visited at least once a day, the worry for his daughter written in the lines on his face. He would sit with her, stroking her hair and murmuring softly, promising terrible vengeance on those that had harmed her. Each time he came, he would look at the four friends expectantly, demanding an update on their investigation. Each time they shook their heads in apology, before leaving the house more determined than ever to find the person who had dared lay a hand the girl they were all becoming fond of.

Athos sat beside the bed watching Eleanor intently, blue eyes fixed on her face. Her body shifted and she moaned softly, her sweat soaked hair tangling across the bolster. It had been three days, nearly four since her fever had started. He knew, they all did that fevers could prove dangerous when they lasted this long. Athos picked up the cloth, running it over her forehead. His fingers brushed her cheek, the heat almost enough to burn.

“You must fight,” his voice was low as he ran his fingers over her cheek again. “Do not give up, you must live.”

Athos sighed, running a hand over his face, listening to Eleanor’s ragged breaths as she fought to survive. He looked up sharply as her breath caught in a struggling gasp. As he watched she gasped again, her breath catching in her throat. Her head tossed from side to side as she struggled for air, each breath becoming more difficult.

“Aramis.” Athos’ voice echoed through the house, and a second later, although it seemed like forever, he heard footsteps thundering up the stairs. Aramis burst through the door, dark eyes sweeping over the room. He wasted no time in sliding onto the bed next to the choking girl, concern written across his features.

“Roll her towards you,” his voice was terse. Athos grasped Eleanor’s shoulder, pulling her towards him as Aramis slipped a hand onto her back, rubbing firmly. After a few, eternal moments, the terrible, struggling breaths ceased, turning to short gasps as Eleanor desperately pulled air into her lungs.

“Shh, it’s alright,” Athos murmured quietly to Eleanor, watching her face intently. Aramis watched as he carefully brushed away a lock of hair that had fallen across the girl’s cheek. His touch was gentle, almost tender as he soothed her. After a few moments more she settled, and Aramis ran a hand over his eyes before slipping gently back from the bed. Athos looked up; his eyes worried.

“What was that?”

“I don’t know; the distress of her fever perhaps.” Aramis looked at the girl. Her chest rose and fell in shallow breaths as she fought the poison in her blood; but he was satisfied that for the moment at least that she would continue to breathe. “We must watch and hope it does not happen again.”

“You mean we must hope that her fever breaks.”

“Yes, that too.” Running a hand over his eyes once more, the Spaniard slipped from the room, leaving his friend with the girl.

It was sometime later, as the dark of evening slipped into the house when Aramis entered the dining room in search of food. He stopped short in surprise when he saw d’Artagnan sitting at the table, a glass of wine in his hand.

“Why aren’t you with Eleanor?” Aramis knew his tone was sharp, but he could hardly believe that the boy was shirking his duties.

“I went up when my watch was supposed to start, but Athos told me he would stay with her for a bit longer.” D’Artagnan shrugged resignedly. “He gave me such a look that I wasn’t planning on disturbing him again.” Aramis sighed; he knew the kind of look that d’Artagnan meant. One that said _leave me be_. He also knew that the boy had been right, it was not wise to push Athos when he looked at one like that. But, he reasoned; since when had he minded what was wise where his friends were concerned.

“Alright; I’ll deal with him.” Squaring his shoulders, Aramis turned and left the room, there was one thing he needed to do before facing Athos down.

Athos barely glanced up as the door opened; he knew from the light tread that it was Aramis. Gently he continued to wipe the damp cloth across Eleanor’s burning skin, feeling the heat that almost scorched his fingertips.

“You do know that d’Artagnan’s watch started two hours ago?”

“I’m aware of that; I told him I would stay,” the tone was not one that Aramis would normally have ignored. He sighed and stepped forwards.

“What is it, my friend? You are going beyond your duty in your care of her.” Athos looked up at him, and just for a moment the mask that guarded his thoughts slipped. Aramis was momentarily shocked at the worry and sadness he saw revealed in the blue eyes. After a split second, the mask was back up and the gaze was steady once more.

“I have spent a great deal of time with her over the last few weeks; I would care if she died.”

“Well that’s not a crime, and we would all care. But you must rest; you will be no good to her at all if you are dead on your feet.”

“I don’t need to rest yet.” Aramis sighed again, inwardly cursing the man for his stubbornness. He would swear that the most stubborn of mules had nothing on Athos.

“I thought you might say no to me; that’s why I bought reinforcements.” He reached back and opened the door, stepping to one side to reveal a frowning Anna.

“Right, come along, monsieur; the young man tells me that you will not rest.”

“I assure you, Madame, I am quite alright.” Anna crossed her arms and looked at him shrewdly.

“I think not; I will not leave the young mistress in the care of a man who looks so tired that a gust of wind might blow him over. Now come along, or I shall call your big friend to help me escort you.” Her face darkened when he did not move and he sighed, realising why even the Captain did not cross this woman, and knowing that this was not a battle he was going to win.

“Alright.” He rose from the chair, suddenly becoming painfully aware of his cramped and aching muscles. Anna nodded and picked up his jerkin from where he had draped it over a chair. With one last glance at Eleanor, he followed the housekeeper from the room and allowed her to lead him to the room along the hall. She watched as he lay on the bed and nodded in approval as exhaustion took over, sending him to sleep almost as soon as his head hit the bolster.

Aramis watched Anna lead Athos from the room, dark eyes following them intently. He paused at the door, looking at Eleanor as she lay in the grip of her fever. Her restless movements had ceased, she lay still, her skin ashen beneath the flush of fever. Shaking his head, he turned and stepped out into the hallway and called for d’Artagnan. A moment later he heard light footsteps on the stairs and the young Gascon slipped into the room.

“What is it?” The boys’ dark eyes flicked around the room, noting Athos’ absence and Aramis’ concerned expression.

“We need to try and break this fever.” Aramis had a hand resting on Eleanor’s head. The fingers of his other hand pressed against her wrist, feeling the fluttering of her heartbeat as fast as a butterfly’s wing, and, he thought just as delicate.

“You’re really worried.” D’Artagnan gazed steadily at him as he smoothed Eleanor’s hair back from her face, soothing her as she moaned softly. Her strength was fading, the fever had all but drained her. If they could not find a way to help her tonight, Aramis feared the battle would be lost.

“I couldn’t tell Athos; he would never have left the room.”

“How did you manage it?” d’Artagnan glanced at Aramis, his curiosity piqued, and the Spaniard shook his head and shrugged.

“Let us just say that the Captain’s housekeeper is a force to be reckoned with.”

“I can believe that; she reminds me of my mother.”

“Well then you’d best behave yourself, young man.” Both musketeers jumped and turned to the door, guilty looks on their faces. Anna stood in the doorway, eyebrows raised and hands on hips.

“I... I’m...” d’Artagnan stuttered as the woman levelled her gaze at him. For a moment Aramis considered stepping in to save the boy, but decided it would be funnier to watch as the Gascon was reduced to a child under Anna’s stare. He stopped smirking when the housekeeper levelled her gaze at him.

“None of that from you either.” Her gaze fell to where his hand still rested on Eleanor’s hair and her face softened. “What do you need?”

“A cup of boiling water; buckets of the coldest water you can find and cloths.” All trace of humour had gone from Aramis’ face and his eyes were once again filled with concern as Anna nodded and set off down the stairs. A few moments later they heard her voice as she directed the young maid and sounds of flurried activity as they carried out Aramis’ requests.

“What’s that?” d’Artagnan watched as Aramis opened a pouch at his belt and pulled out a small package wrapped in soft leather. Quickly he unwrapped it and emptied a small bundle of what appeared to be crumbling sticks onto the table beside the bed.

“Willow bark; if we can get her to take some then it may help to break the fever.” He looked up as the door opened and Anna entered, the maid Alice close behind her.

The housekeeper handed the cup of water she carried to Aramis and placed the bundle of cloths that she had under her arm onto the table beside the bed. Alice placed the buckets of water she carried beside the bed and stood gazing at Eleanor, her face full of sadness. She remained there until a word from Anna broke her from her thoughts, sending her hurrying from the room. Anna and d’Artagnan watched as Aramis crumbled the bark into the cup and put it to one side. He turned to them; his dark eyes serious.

“That needs to steep for a while; we must try and cool her body while it does.”

“What is your plan, monsieur?” Anna regarded him levelly.

“Surround her in the cold cloths, keep changing them and use the water to draw the heat from her.”

“Will it work?”

“It might, it’s better than trying nothing.”

“Well I hope it works for all our sakes,” d’Artagnan’s voice was quiet as he moved to the first bucket and pile of cloths.

They worked through the night, placing cold cloths around Eleanor’s body, and replacing them as the heat from her fever warmed them. Aramis gently forced the bitter infusion of willow bark down her throat, and a few hours later brewed another cup and made her drink that too. It was the middle of the night when Anna looked up from the fresh water, ringing a cloth out as she fixed her gaze on Aramis.

“Is it working?”

“I don’t know; there’s been no change so far.” There were dark shadows under his eyes as he placed a hand on Eleanor’s brow, feeling the fire that still raged in her skin.

“What do we do?” d’Artagnan saw the concern in his friends’ eyes.

“There’s nothing else to do; we keep trying.”

“And if...” d’Artagnan trailed off.

“I don’t know; but I for one am not going to tell the Captain that we gave up on her.” He pulled a cloth from the bed and took the fresh one from Anna, muttering a prayer under his breath as he did so.

The first rays of dawn were just breaking through the clouds, washing the sky with pink and gold when Porthos entered the house. He entered the dining room, surprised to see only the young maid, Alice.

“Where’s everyone else?” The girl looked at him like a startled doe, her red rimmed eyes telling him that she had been weeping.

“Upstairs, monsieur; all with the mistress.” Without a backward glance, Porthos strode down the hallway to the stairs. When he entered Eleanor’s room, he saw Anna, Aramis and d’Artagnan stood around the bed. Eleanor lay still and unmoving, her face pale and her hair still damp with sweat. Porthos stared at the girl, looking for any sign of life as he stepped into the room.

“Aramis?” His voice was soft as he closed the door. His friend looked up at him and stared, almost as though he did not register who stood in front of him. “Aramis what happened?”

“We worked all night,” Aramis’ voice was quiet with exhaustion. After a moment he shook himself and looked Porthos in the eye. “It worked; her fever’s broken.” Porthos breathed a sigh of relief and yes, now he looked closely he could see the shallow rise and fall of Eleanor’s chest as she breathed.

“Well that’s something.” Porthos looked from one to the other; all of them looked utterly exhausted, their faces pale with dark rings around their eyes. “Go get some rest, I’ll sit with her.” They nodded gratefully, relief on their faces as they filed from the room.

Porthos quietly closed the door and looked at the brightening sky as he unbuttoned his jerkin, draping it over a chair before settling down to keep watch over the sleeping girl. He had not been sat for long before the door opened and Athos stepped into the room, buttoning his jerkin over is shirt. Porthos saw his gaze sweep over the room, blue eyes widening slightly as he saw Eleanor’s still form.

“S’alright, Athos; her fever’s gone.” Athos inclined his head in a grateful acknowledgement, and Porthos watched his friend let out the breath he was holding.

“Has she...”

“Not woken up yet.”

“The others?”

“Sleeping; they were with her all night.”

“Alright; I’ll stop at the garrison and tell Treville.” He glanced at Eleanor once more, as though reassuring himself that she still lived and slipped out the door, shutting it softly behind him.

Treville stood beside the Queen, barely listening as the King rambled on about a hunting trip he wanted to go on, ignoring the Queen’s gentle sigh. He could feel the gazes of Rochefort and the Cardinal as the men looked at him and it took every ounce of his soldiers’ control to stop himself driving his fists into their faces. When Athos had brought him the news that morning that Eleanor’s fever had broken he had wanted to run straight to his house and see her, but the summons had come from the palace that he was to attend his majesty. He had been here for most of the day and had to admit to himself that he had never wanted to tell the King to shut up more than he did at this moment in time.

“How is your daughter, Captain?” The Queen’s voice was soft, breaking him from his thoughts.

“She’s still fighting, your majesty.”

“I am glad to hear it.”

“Glad to hear what?” The King was looking at them, his expression amused.

“That Captain Treville’s daughter still lives.”

“Getting better I hope.” The King glanced at Treville.

“There is hope, at least. She is strong, Sire.”

“Well that is good news.”

“Does that mean that his majesty’s musketeers will be able to return to their duties soon? They must be bored of playing nursemaids, unless of course they have found their true calling,” the Cardinal’s voice was soft, and Rochefort smirked. Treville felt the temper that he had passed on to his daughter build within him.

“I would trust those musketeers over any of your men to protect my daughter.”

“Well luckily my men are not at your disposal, so we don’t have to worry about that.”

“That’s enough, Cardinal.” The King’s irritation was clear, stopping the argument immediately. “Treville, have your men found the culprit yet?”

“Not yet, Sire.”

“Tell them to keep looking, I want him found.” With a last, stern glance at Rochefort and the Cardinal he turned and left the room.

When Treville left the palace, it was dark. He paused just outside, rubbing a hand over his eyes, and letting the cool breeze blow across his face. He looked up sharply as rapid hoof beats approached; automatically he laid a hand on his pistol as a rider loomed into view, pulling up sharply in a spray of gravel. It took only a moment for Treville to recognise the man in the saddle as he steadied the skittering horse.

“Porthos? What is it?”

“It’s your daughter, Sir.”

“Oh God is she...?”

“She’s awake, Sir.”


	8. Chapter 8

Aramis had come to relieve Porthos after midday. The big musketeer was glad to see that his friend looked less like he was about to keel over now that he had rested; there was more colour in his cheeks and his eyes were no longer sunken with exhaustion. He watched as Aramis’ dark eyes lingered on Eleanor, assessing her pale face, her breathing. Satisfied at last, his gaze flicked around the room.

“No Athos?” Aramis sounded mildly surprised.

“He’s still out.”

“I’m surprised; it was all I could do to get him out of here yesterday.”

“He came to check on her before he left; seemed happy that her fever was gone.” Porthos paused, frowning. “You don’t think he’s...” He left the question hanging.

“What? Got feelings for her?” Aramis’ eyes widened as his friend nodded. “God, I hope not, for his sake if nothing else. But no, I think he has his heart closed although it saddens me to see it.” Porthos gave a look that suggested that he very much hoped not too, he could not imagine what Treville would do to any of them that dared look at, never mind touch his daughter. He sighed as he looked down at the still sleeping girl.

“For the Captain’s sake I hope she wakes up soon.” Porthos stood, stretching out his muscles and reaching for his jerkin before heading downstairs in search of food. Aramis sat in the chair beside the bed and took the gold rosary from beneath his shirt, deciding that it was time to follow the doctors’ advice and pray.

_Ave Maria, gratia plena,_

_Dominus tecum_

_Benedicta tu in mulieribus_

_Et benedictus fructus ventris tui_

_Iesus_

_Sancta Maria, Mater Dei_

_Ora pro nobis peccatoribus_

_Nunc, et in hora mortis nostrae_

_Amen_

Aramis prayed through the day as the shadows moved across the room, the bright afternoon light darkening to rich gold as the day wore on. As the shadows in the room began to lengthen, he stood, slipping the cross from his neck. Carefully he reached out, gently pressing the cross into Eleanor’s hand and closing her fingers around it. He sighed and stood, moving to the window, and gazing out over Paris. The sun was just beginning to set, washing the clouds with purple and edging them in red. As he looked at it, Aramis thought it gave the impression that someone had streaked the sky with a paintbrush, leaving soft smears of colour over the fading blue background.

“Oh, merciful Mother, I beg of you; intercede for this girl. I fear if she loses this fight then good men will fall. She is innocent in this, I beg of you, save her.”

He turned as he heard movement behind him, and his eyes widened. Eleanor’s hand had closed around the cross, and as he watched, her eyes flickered open. Her head turned as Aramis crossed to the bed in three strides, all but landing in the chair.

“Aramis?” Her voice was faint, the fever had left her drained.

“Eleanor, how do you feel?” He ran his gaze over the girl; her skin was still pale but no longer ashen.

“Exhausted, what happened?” Eleanor ran a hand over her face, her movements slow, her hand shaking ever so slightly.

“You were attacked and poisoned; you’ve been unconscious for six days.” Aramis reached out, taking her hand and pressing his fingers against her wrist. Her heartbeat was steady once more, and he breathed easy once again.

“Six days? Then why do I feel like I haven’t slept for six weeks?”

“You’ve been fighting for your life; I doubt it was going to be restful.” She nodded and he rose from his seat, quietly excusing himself. Her eyes were already drifting closed again as he moved to the door.

Quickly, Aramis slipped down the hall and made his way down the stairs, all but leaping down the last three steps. He ran headlong into the dining room, colliding with Alice and sending the tray that she carried crashing to the floor, the thankfully empty tankards clattering across the flagstones, the noise echoing through the house.

“Aramis, what the...” Porthos rose from his seat, dark eyes narrowed in confusion as Aramis knelt to retrieve one of the tankards.

“What in heavens’ name is going on in here?” Anna came barrelling into the room, a glare fixed on her face. “You’re making enough noise to wake the whole of Paris.”

“An apt choice of words, Madame; Eleanor has just woken.” Aramis watched as the housekeepers’ face went from anger to disbelief to joy. Without another word she hurried back out of the door, her footsteps sounding on the stairs a moment later. “Porthos, my friend, I believe the Captain is at the palace today.” He did not need to say any more, the big musketeer picked up his hat and made for the door.

Aramis stood, gathering the last tankards in his hands, and placing them onto the tray and smiling at Alice.

“My apologies, mademoiselle; it was clumsy of me.”

“At least it was nothing breakable.” She smiled, gazing up at him with wide eyes and reminding Aramis of a startled deer. He smiled at her and nodded, before turning back into the hall and making his way up the stairs.

It could only have been an hour later when Aramis and Eleanor heard the door slam and booted feet pounding on the stairs. The door burst open as if hit with a battering ram, revealing Captain Treville, his eyes wild and his clothes dusty from the fast ride from the palace. His gaze found the bed and settled on Eleanor where she sat, propped against several bolsters. Aramis saw the Captain let out the breath he had clearly been holding, his shoulders relaxing as though a huge weight had been lifted from him.

Aramis watched as Treville pulled Eleanor into his arms, almost crushing her in his grip, the relief clear on his face. He looked across the room to where Porthos stood in the doorway and nodded, before rising quietly to his feet and slipping soft footed into the hall, leaving father and daughter alone.

It was sometime later when Athos returned and the house was quiet, Treville having left some hours earlier to get some much-needed rest. Athos paused in the hallway, he felt drained, despite a night of enforced rest. He was hungry, he wanted wine, but most of all, he wanted to see Eleanor, to look at her face and see that she still lived, that her fever had not returned. Quietly, he made his way down the hall towards the soft light that still emanated from the under the dining room door. He opened the door softly and stopped short when the light glinted off the gun barrel aimed neatly at his chest.

“Not the usual welcome.” He quirked an eyebrow at Porthos and the big man shrugged.

“Thought it might be you but wasn’t gonna take the chance; she might be awake, but Captain said we still had to watch her.”

“She’s awake?” Athos felt his breath catch in his chest, his stomach swirling, but kept his expression neutral.

“Since sunset, anyway, where’ve you been for so long?” Porthos frowned, there was something beneath his friend’s stoic expression that was not quite right.

“Searching.”

“Anything?”

“No, no one seems to know anything about it.”

“Or if they do, they ain’t telling.” Athos nodded; his mouth set in a grim line. Porthos watched as his friend’s eyes flicked to the hallway and stairs. “She’s still awake if you want to see her,” his voice was soft, Athos glanced at him and nodded his thanks before making his way towards the stairs.

Anna was just stepping out into the hallway when Athos reached the door of Eleanor’s room. The old housekeeper looked at him, her eyes narrowed for a moment in appraisal. “You must take care of yourself, monsieur; you look about ready to collapse.”

“I was hoping to see Madame Ardoin.”

“Don’t be too long; she needs to rest and so do you.” He smiled at her and inclined his head. She laid a hand briefly on his arm, although he ordinarily preferred not to be touched by anyone other than his friends, Athos did not mind; it was motherly, affectionate in a way he could not recall experiencing from his own mother. Anna released him and sighed before making her way down the stairs, leaving him alone.

Athos paused outside Eleanor’s room, one hand on the latch and his head resting against the cool wood of the door. He drew in a deep, shuddering breath, his stomach twisting. He wanted nothing more than to charge into the room, to speak to her, to see her alive and awake with his own eyes. But he must not. He must be calm, neutral. He would not charge into the room like a stumbling fool.

When Athos entered the room, he thought Eleanor already slept; he had just turned to leave when her head turned towards him.

“Athos?”

“Correct.” Athos could not stop a smile forming as he stepped fully into the room, moving to lean against one of the bed posts. Eleanor smiled and pushed herself unsteadily up onto one elbow. As she did, Athos caught sight of a flash of gold in her hand and was mildly surprised to see Aramis’ gold rosary wrapped around the girls’ fingers.

“They said you’d been gone for a long time,” Eleanor’s soft voice brought his focus back to her and he raised his gaze to her face. In the dim light from the single candle he could see that she was still pale, but the faintest blush of colour was returning to her cheeks.

“I was looking for anything that might lead us to the person that hurt you. As of this moment, I have so far failed.”

“You’ll find them; I think my father will not rest until you do.” Her faith in them was simple and complete, she had no doubt they would succeed.

“I believe you are correct again. I see Aramis has left you his rosary.” He hoped his comment had not sounded accusatory, and watched as her thumb moved over the shape of the gold cross.

“He said I could look after it until I was well again.”

“Well then, have a care; it is one of his most treasured possessions.”

“I will.” She smiled, and Athos pushed himself away from the post.

“I should go; Anna will have my head if she thinks I’ve kept you up too late.” Eleanor nodded, settling back against the bolster. Even this brief conversation appeared to have exhausted her.

“Goodnight, Athos.”

“Goodnight, Eleanor.”

Only once he had stepped into the hallway and closed the door behind him, did Athos let the breath out that he felt he had been holding since Anna had told them that Eleanor was sick. He pressed his back against the wall, allowing the solid surface to ground him so that he could gather himself. Seeing her had calmed him briefly, he could feel the fluttering relief that Eleanor was alive and awake, coupled with the swirling rage that someone had dared to attack her and through her, attack Treville. He leant his head back against the wall, closing his eyes and drew in a deep breath, putting his self-control back into place and determined to channel his anger into finding out what had happened.

A light burned in the Cardinal’s office, casting flickering shadows on the wall as Richelieu paced back and forth.

“Not so fool proof as you thought, Rochefort. From what I hear the girl is awake and recovering.”

“They will try again, your eminence.”

“Then let us hope that this time they are successful; feed them enough information to ensure that Treville is truly distracted.” He paused, deep in thought. “Perhaps if his daughter being sick is not enough to distract him then the added loss of one of his favourites might.”


	9. Chapter 9

The next day was dull, grey clouds hanging heavily over Paris and drizzling fine rain over the musketeers assembled in the courtyard. Treville stood on the stairs, wrinkling his nose as he felt the misty rain soaking into his cloak and sighing as he looked down at his men; they looked as miserable as he felt in the rain. He decided to hand out the duties quickly and send them on their way. Although his men were hardened soldiers and could work in any weather, it was not kind to leave them in the rain. Sometimes, Treville thought to himself, the smell of wet musketeer could be compared to that of wet dog, and if possible was to be avoided. Finally, he came to the end of the duty list and dismissed his soldiers, watching as they filed out of the garrison yard leaving Athos, Aramis and d’Artagnan standing alone.

“You three, come with me.” Treville made his way down the stairs, pulling his cloak around him, the wet wool heavy and cumbersome.

“Where?” Athos had swung into step beside him.

“To my house, we need to gather any information we can.”

“Forgive me, Captain, but isn’t that what we’ve been doing for the past week?” d’Artagnan ran a hand through his damp hair, and Treville made a mental note to tell the others to make the boy buy a hat.

“There is one source of information we haven’t explored yet.”

“What’s that?” Athos glanced sideways at the Captain.

“Eleanor.”

“Captain, Eleanor has been unconscious for six days, and from what your housekeeper has told us, the attack was over in seconds. What can she possibly tell us?” Aramis was incredulous.

“With any luck, more than you think.” Treville could sense their disbelief and, in truth he did not blame them. Although Aramis had not said it, the thought that a blind woman could provide any information that might help would indeed seem odd to them. But then again, he reasoned, they did not know his daughter quite so well as he did.

They trooped up the stairs, having collected Porthos on their way through the dining room. Anna had pursed her lips when Treville had told her that they wanted to question Eleanor about her attacker, warning Treville that the girl still needed rest and that he was not to tire her. The Captain had nodded graciously, promising to only be as long as required, and Anna had led them like a line of ducklings through the house.

They filed through the bedroom door to find Eleanor sat up in bed, running a comb roughly through her fiery hair, wincing as she hit a tangle. She smiled as they came in, not pausing in her battle with the comb.

“How are you?” Treville sat on the edge of the bed and the others moved to stand around it. Anna busied herself clearing the remains of a meal that sat on the bedside table, one eye on her charge.

“Bored.” Eleanor gritted her teeth as she savagely pulled the comb through the knot. Aramis winced as it came free with a harsh grating noise.

“Feeling better then.” Treville could not suppress a smile as Eleanor sighed. Her ill temper was sure sign that her health was returning, and with it, her desire to not be cooped up and idle.

“Yes, and ready to get out of bed.” Eleanor let out her breath in a discontented sigh before dropping the comb into her lap.

“You will rest for one more day; then you can go downstairs tomorrow.” Anna’s voice was firm, stating that she would brook no argument on the subject. She was rewarded with a bright smile, and shook her head fondly as she turned and left the room.

Treville turned to Eleanor, watching her carefully before he made his request.

“Eleanor, we need your help.” She turned her head towards him, and tilted it to one side, curiosity on her features.

“With what?”

“We need you to think back and see if you can remember anything about the day you were attacked, any details about your attacker that you can think of might help us find them.” He saw the curiosity drop from her face and was relieved as she nodded.

“Alright, I’ll see what I can remember.” They watched as she took several deep, slow breaths, her body becoming still as she concentrated on what she could remember of that day in the market. “It was a man, taller than me, but not much I think, his shoulder hit my cheek.” Her hand raised, fingers brushing the pale skin of her cheek as she remembered the impact. “His hands were rough, strong, one touched my arm.” She paused, her eyes closed, and her brow creased as she fought to remember the details. Her head shifted quickly to the side and she took in a quick breath, Porthos thought that it looked like she was scenting the air. “He smelt like...sword oil and leather, like a soldier but his cloak was something else like...” Eleanor screwed her eyes tightly shut; biting her lip and Aramis feared that she was exhausting herself. He took a step forwards, but Treville shook his head, warning him off.

“What was it, Eleanor?” Treville’s voice was soft and encouraging. He too was worried that she would overtax herself, but he knew she could remember if she had a few more moments.

“It smelled musty and damp, like he’s been somewhere old and not looked after.” She opened her eyes and shook her head. “I’m sorry, that’s all I can remember.”

“You’ve done well.” Treville leant forwards, gently kissing her cheek. “We’ll leave you to rest now.” He squeezed her hand and rose from the bed, turning to face the others. “d’Artagnan, you’re staying here.” The young Gascon nodded without complaint and Treville turned for the door, leading them back through the house.

He paused in the dining room and turned to face them. “Well she’s given us what she can.”

“Far more than I would have expected,” Aramis’ voice held a note of wonder.

“Well I did tell you.” Treville could not hide the note of pride in his voice. “She takes in a great many details with her other senses and remembers them. We’ll work with what we have back at the garrison; we’re going to go through every report I have and see if we can find anyone who I might have made an enemy of.” He pushed his hat onto his head and turned for the door, Athos, Porthos and Aramis following behind.

“This is gonna take ages.” Porthos’ kept the comment carefully under his breath, grateful that the Captain either did not hear or chose to ignore it.

When they reached the garrison, Treville led them straight up the stairs to his office; once the door was closed, he turned to face them, his expression serious.

“The information and reports that you are about to see are from every mission, incident and noteworthy occurrence in the history of this regiment and some from before the regiment even existed. Some of it is known and some of it is not and for the welfare of your fellow musketeers should not be known. Do I make myself clear?”

“Don’t tell anyone anything.” Athos met Treville’s gaze steadily.

“Precisely.” They nodded and he seemed satisfied, he turned and pulled out the key for the records cabinet. “Right, take a record, read it and if it might be important then put it on my desk. If not, then put it back and if you don’t put them back in exactly the right place, I’ll have you cleaning the stables.”

They nodded and set to work, each reaching out for a document and mindful of the spot they took it from, knowing that Treville did not make idle threats and that he would make their lives miserable if they disturbed his meticulous filing system.

They sat for hours, reading their way through every scrap of paper, occasionally making a remark or observation on one of the records. Serge brought them food and drink and they ate it while reading. The sun climbed through the sky and the pile of papers on Treville’s desk grew steadily as they found records that may have made enemies for Treville.

“How about this one?” Aramis passed a piece of paper to Treville and the Captain scanned over it before shaking his head.

“No, everyone involved in that one’s dead.”

“We’ve got dishonourable discharges, deaths on missions, disputes; it could be any one of them.” Porthos sighed as he picked up another record, and looked out of the window to where the setting sun was casting long shadows across the garrison.

“The answer’s got to be here somewhere.” Treville rolled up the sheet of paper he was holding and sighed, Porthos was getting restless and Aramis was becoming more fidgety by the minute.

“Wait a minute; she said somewhere damp and musty.” Porthos had looked up suddenly as the thought struck him.

“What about it? Half of the buildings in Paris are damp in one way or another.” Aramis had raised an eyebrow at his friend.

“Yeah but most of them get lived in and aired out every so often.”

“You’re thinking abandoned buildings?” Treville had looked up in interest.

“Yep, and I’m thinking exactly who knows what goes in most of the abandoned buildings in the city.”

“Your friends in the Court of Miracles.” Treville had sat back in his chair, the paper in his hand momentarily forgotten. “Fine, go, see if they know anything and if they can be persuaded to keep an ear to the ground, promise them payment if they want it.” Porthos nodded and stood. “Aramis go to my house and relieve d’Artagnan, tell him to report to me in the morning, he can join us in here tomorrow.” Aramis looked relieved as he placed the paper he was holding carefully back in its place and joined Porthos at the door.

“Until tomorrow then.” The Spaniard tilted his hat and followed his friend out onto the balcony. Treville watched them go and sighed, he turned when he sensed he was being watched and found Athos leaning back in his chair, one eyebrow raised.

“What?”

“Well that was efficient.” Athos’ tone was dry, but a hint of amusement sparkled in the blue eyes.

“I had to be, what with Porthos’ complaining and Aramis’ fidgeting they were driving me mad.” Treville stood and stretched; his back and neck ached from being hunched over papers all day and his eyes felt dry and tired. “I suppose you want to escape too.” He looked at his most steadfast soldier, unsurprised, yet grateful when Athos raised an eyebrow once more.

“Not unless you want me gone. I was under the impression that there are more records to sort through.” Slowly and deliberately he raised the paper he was holding to the lamplight and began to read again.

Not for the first time, Treville marvelled at this man who could be brought so low by his past, but never wavered in his duty or loyalty. He sighed, it would be a long night of reading, but he did not mind having Athos for company; the man had a quiet steadiness about him which balanced the exuberance of his friends and held them together. In fact, Treville thought that if not for Athos, he might long ago have strangled Porthos or Aramis. He bent down to open a low cupboard, reaching in to grasp the bottle of brandy and glasses that lay within. Placing the glasses on the desk he filled each one and without a word, pushed one towards Athos. The man reached out and picked up the glass, sniffing appreciatively. He nodded his thanks, sensing that words were not required or wanted at this point.

Porthos made his way through the damp streets, the houses becoming shabbier as he grew close to his destination. Eventually he reached the archway he was aiming for, and taking a careful note of his coin pouch, stepped into the Court of Miracles. He could feel eyes on him as he walked up the narrow pathway between the buildings, the silence of the watchers heavy and suspicious. He had not gone more than a few yards when the first warning sounded, the single tapping of an old horseshoe against the wooden balcony that was soon joined by others, the sound growing to fill the space as he moved. Porthos carefully kept his hands away from his weapons, leaving them well in view of the watching eyes. He had only taken a few more steps when a figure appeared up ahead and held up a hand. The warning ceased immediately, and the figure stepped fully into the light; Porthos grinned as he recognised the Queen of the Court.

“Flea.” He pulled her into a tight hug and when he released her, she gazed at him shrewdly.

“What do you need, Porthos?” She turned, wrapping her arm around him, and leading him inside. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and grinned down at her.

“What makes you think I need something?”

“I can always tell; you can’t hide anything from me.” She tilted her head to one side, and he sighed, realising that she was right.

“Do you know if any of the abandoned buildings have had anything going on in them? Maybe people coming and going who don’t look like they belong there?”

“Not heard anything, but I can keep an ear out. What’s happened?”

“Captain’s daughter was attacked, nearly killed.” He watched Flea’s face as she took in his words.

“That pretty red-haired girl? What do they want with her?”

“Dunno, but the Captain ain’t gonna rest till he knows, and he’ll be grateful for anything you can give him.” He could see that he didn’t need to put the Captain’s offer of payment bluntly, Flea understood. She nodded, her face set in determination.

“I’ll listen out for anything and I’ll let you know.” She reached up onto a shelf and pulled down a bottle, holding it up towards him. “You got time for a drink?”

“I’ve always got time for a drink with you.” She grinned and took his hand, pulling him further into the room. He smiled as her intentions to do more than just have a drink were made clear, and reasoned after all, that he wasn’t needed anywhere until tomorrow.


	10. Chapter 10

Aramis made his way through the darkening streets, glad that the rain had finally eased off. He liked the rain, it helped wash everything clean, something the streets of Paris sorely needed; however, he preferred stormy downpours to the fine misty rain that worked its way into everywhere and left one soaked through.

It did not take him long to reach the house and when he knocked on the door, he was surprised to see it opened almost instantly, revealing d’Artagnan. The young man’s face broke into an expression of relief when he saw Aramis.

“Thank heavens; I was wondering if anyone would ever come.”

“Why? What’s happened?” Aramis stepped into the hall, his eyes darting around for any sign of trouble, one hand on his pistol.

“Oh, nothing’s happened, but she’s bored and it’s like looking after a mare that’s kicking at the stable door,” d’Artagnan’s frustration was evident in his voice, and the boy glanced back over his shoulder as he spoke.

“Been on the wrong end of her, have you?” Aramis grinned at the boy as he hung up his cloak, glad to be free of the wet, heavy garment.

“Not quite yet but if she has to stay in this house much longer then we all will be.”

“Well we must endeavour to alleviate her boredom then.” They moved down the hall, the light from the dining room warm and welcoming. Aramis was hungry, and was pleased to see that there was still food on the table, he swiped an apple and took a bite.

“How?” The young musketeer looked puzzled and Aramis sighed as he chewed; for someone so much in love, the boy still knew remarkably little about women.

“Conversation, my dear boy, the lady has interests and is bright and charming; we must discover those interests and engage her.”

“The only thing that I know she likes is that mare of hers.” D’Artagnan wrinkled his nose; he was not a great fan of chestnut mares, having had similar experiences of them to Athos.

“A perfect start, the horse is in the musketeer stables yes?”

“Yes, but Treville left orders that she isn’t allowed out of the house.”

“Well then, when you report to Treville in the morning, convince him otherwise; it’ll be a sure way of making her happy if you can take her to see her horse next time it’s your shift.” Aramis smiled and clapped d’Artagnan on the shoulder, cheerfully ignoring the look on d’Artagnan’s face that suggested he would rather have a drink with Rochefort than question Treville’s orders concerning his daughter. “Speaking of the fair Eleanor, where is she?”

“She’s in the study, been pacing in there for the last hour.”

“Alright, you go, I’ll see if I can settle her a little.” D’Artagnan nodded gratefully and beat a hasty retreat, leaving Aramis alone.

Taking a few moments to finish his apple, Aramis thought on what he had just been told. There would be something else besides boredom behind Eleanor’s fractiousness, he was sure of it. He wondered if he could get her to talk to him, to let him into whatever thoughts swirled through an obviously quick mind so often hidden behind her self-control. Sighing, the Spaniard made his way down the hall, spotting the open door to the study. It was almost dark in the room, but he could just about see Eleanor as she paced along the bookshelf that made up most of the far wall. She stopped as he stepped into the doorway, her head turned slightly towards him as she picked up the sound of his footsteps.

“Aramis.” It was a statement, not a question and he stepped fully into the room.

“That’s right, how did you know?”

“Your footsteps are the softest and your doublet flows as you move, it’s not hard to tell,” her voice was quiet with no hint of pride or bragging in her tone. Aramis sensed sadness about her, trailing through the room like fine mist.

Carefully he stepped back into the hall and took one of the lamps from its bracket on the wall, taking it with him back into the study. The soft light cast dancing shadows on the walls and Aramis stepped closer to Eleanor, watching her closely as the lamp light fell across her features. She had resumed her slow pacing along the length of the bookshelf, her fingers running over the leather-bound covers as she moved.

When she turned, Aramis could see that he had been right, an air of sadness hung about her; he could also see that she had still not regained her full strength and her pacing had exhausted her, leaving her face pale and dark shadows under her eyes. Her thoughts seemed to have turned inwards, almost as though she had forgotten he was there. Aramis watched as she paused, pulling a book from the shelf, and running the tips of her fingers gently across the cover, the smallest of smiles gracing her features as she did so.

“L’Astrée.” Aramis could just about see the title of the book in the lamp light. “An excellent book.” Eleanor jumped a little as he spoke, confirming his suspicions that she had forgotten his presence.

“It’s one of my favourites.” A true smile now formed as she hugged the book to her. “My mother taught me to trace the titles on embossed covers so that I could find a book, then she would read it to me. Father collected copies of the books that I liked with embossed covers and if he could not find one then he would have them made.” She smiled fondly at the memory. “No one has read to me for a long time.” Her smile had vanished, and the air of sadness had reappeared, hanging about her like a shadow and further enhancing his opinion that she needed to rest.

“Would you like me to read it to you?” He was not sure if his offer would be rebuffed when he saw the quizzical look on her face.

“Are you sure? It does not seem like a soldier’s tale.”

“Ah, Madame, at heart I am a romantic and a tale of perfect love is one that I will read over and over again.” He was glad when she smiled, and the sad cloud seemed to lift.

“In that case I would be glad if you would read it to me.” A brief frown crossed her face. “Oh, I almost forgot-” Eleanor reached up, pulling the gold rosary from where it lay around her neck, glinting in the lamplight, “-this is yours.” She stepped forwards, holding the rosary out and Aramis took it gently, her fingers brushing his as he did so.

“My thanks for taking care of it.” He took her hand, placing it on his arm, and she smiled, allowing guide her through the house.

He waited patiently while Anna helped the girl prepare for bed, then took up a seat next to the bed and began to read. His voice was low and soft as he began the tale of the two lovers and he read late into the night, stopping only when Eleanor’s eyes drifted closed and she slept peacefully.

To Porthos’ relief, the next morning was bright and the skies clear but when he stepped onto the streets the air still held the fresh scent of rain. Quickly he made his way through the streets, mindful of the first rays of dawn that were edging the rooftops in gold.

The sun had almost fully risen when he reached the house and he knocked softly on the door, not wanting to disturb anyone still sleeping within. It was the young maid who opened the door, stepping aside to let him in. He could see dark smudges on her apron and hands; she had clearly been laying fires.

“Your friend is in the study, monsieur.” He followed her down the hall and made his way to where she pointed, pausing to thank her when he reached the door to the study.

Aramis sat at the desk, his legs stretched out in front of him and his head dropped forwards onto his chest. He started awake as a floorboard creaked under Porthos’ foot, his hand moving for his pistol. Porthos froze for a moment until he was sure that Aramis had recognised him and had lowered the pistol.

“You do know that Treville said we were allowed to sleep in the beds, right? You didn’t have to stay down here.” He watched as Aramis neatly caught the book that was about to slide from his lap and straightened himself in the chair, stretching like a cat and wincing as his neck cracked.

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep.” Carefully he placed the book on the desk, marking his place with a strip of ribbon he found there.

“You were up all of yesterday, surely you weren’t gonna try and stay up all night too?” Porthos frowned at his friend.

“Wouldn’t be the first time; do you remember when Athos was wounded on that mission to arrest that troublesome baron some years ago?”

“I remember you stayed up for nearly two days straight when he took a fever. I also remember that you made yourself sick with worry, then couldn’t sleep and then made yourself really sick. That, and all the other times you’ve stayed up past your bedtime.” Porthos smiled at his friend, but his eyes showed his concern. “You need your rest.”

“I know, but I had forgotten how much I enjoyed this book.” Aramis held up the book in question, his expression suitably contrite for the worry he had caused his friend. “Eleanor picked it last night and after I had finished reading it to her, I couldn’t put it down so came down here to read some more.”

“I don’t remember reading to her being included in our orders.”

“She wasn’t very happy yesterday, it helped.”

“What’s wrong with her?” If he had to guard Eleanor when she was upset, then Porthos wanted to be forewarned.

“Mostly she’s bored, but I think her mind is also dwelling on the unpleasant fact that somebody tried to kill her. I suggested to d’Artagnan that we may need to engage her in one way or another.”

“Reading out loud ain’t my strong point.”

Porthos frowned, hoping that he would not have to take up where Aramis had left off. He could read, he had applied himself to learning when he had left the court, but he was not prepared to read out loud for the amusement of another. Porthos had been judged by many for his lack of traditional education, for his background, the way he looked, and although he liked Eleanor well enough, he was not prepared to lay himself open to her judgement.

“Porthos, my friend, you have many strong points. That may not be one, but you just have to find one of yours that appeals to her.” Aramis paused, looking at his friend with a furrowed brow. “Please tell me that I don’t have to explain engaging a women’s interest to you as well as to the boy.”

“No, I’m sure I’ll manage thanks.”

“Excellent, in that case I shall wait until the lady wakes and bid farewell to her before I leave you to it.” Aramis grinned and went to leave the study, not quite managing to avoid the shove from Porthos that sent him stumbling into the doorframe before they made their way into the dining room, chuckling as they went.

The first thing d’Artagnan did when he reached the garrison in the morning was to make his way to the stables. He stopped at one of the stalls, greeting his horse with soft murmurs and running the warm ears through his hands. He smiled as the animal nudged his pocket, snuffling for the apple that was his customary morning treat. He murmured softly to his horse, stroking the powerful animal as it happily crunched the apple. As he ran his hands through the soft fur, he gazed along the row of stalls to where Eleanor’s mare stood. He had to admit that she was a beautiful animal, with long legs and rippling muscles under a silken coat that shone like fire in the early morning sunlight. As he watched, she tossed her head and kicked at the stable door, snorting her displeasure. Quickly he made his way down to the stall, reaching out to stroke the mare’s neck.

“Hey, hey, it’s alright, no need for that.” Gently he stroked the velvet muzzle and the mare began to settle, still whickering and huffing. “Your mistress isn’t the only mare kicking at the stable door then; guess I’ll have to talk to the Captain and see if I can help.” He murmured to the mare for a few more moments before sighing and making his way to Treville’s office.

“Enter.” The command lacked its usual force and d’Artagnan opened the door, unsure as to what he might find.

The Captain sat at his desk, a pile of papers in front of him and more in his hands. The young musketeer stepped fully into the room; his attention fully focused on Treville. A slight movement caught his eye and d’Artagnan turned, almost jumping out of his skin when he saw Athos seated to one side of the room, his legs stretched out in front of him and his jerkin slung over the back of his chair; he too held several papers in his hands. D’Artagnan did not miss the dark circles beneath their eyes, or the half empty brandy bottle on the desk. Athos inclined his head in greeting before turning back to the papers he held.

“Captain?” The boy looked back at Treville, waiting for orders.

“You can help me here; there are still records to go through.” Treville paused, glancing across to where Athos sat. “Athos, go home, get some rest.” D’Artagnan watched as the soldier opened his mouth to protest. “Don’t argue with me, Athos; you’re guarding Eleanor tonight and I would prefer you to be useful should anything happen.” For a moment, d’Artagnan thought that Athos would resist further, and a silent battle of wills seemed to take place for a moment as his Captain and his mentor stared at each other.

“Alright, but don’t forget, you’ve been up all night too.” He raised an eyebrow at the Captain and inclined his head as he rose to his feet. Carefully he placed the papers he held onto the pile on the desk and turned to leave, nodding at d’Artagnan as he made his way to the door.

D’Artagnan made his way to the cabinet and pulled out a record, settling down in the chair that Athos had vacated to read it.

“How’s Eleanor?” Treville’s tone was mild and d’Artagnan looked up to see the Captain watching him carefully over the top of the paper he held.

“She’s well.” The Gascon could see as soon as the words were out of his mouth that the Captain did not believe him; a heavy silence flowed in his direction and he tried not to squirm. “Physically anyway.” Treville sighed heavily.

“What’s wrong with her?”

“She’s restless, Sir; she spent most of yesterday pacing around the house, as though she just couldn’t settle.” He took a deep breath; well it was now or never. “If she could just leave the house-”

“Out of the question; it’s too dangerous.”

“But if she were escorted-”

“No! She’s not safe in the streets; the last time she was outside she was almost killed-” Treville had stood and was pacing. “-I need to keep her safe.”

“Yes, Sir, you do; but what is the point in keeping her alive if she goes mad because you’ve cooped her up.”

The Captain turned on him, anger on his face and for a moment, d’Artagnan feared that he had gone too far but he stood fast, gazing back at Treville. Ordinarily, he would have left standing up to the Captain to Athos; the man being quite content to hammer his way through the command structure of the garrison when it suited him. But Athos was not here, and it fell to him to advocate for Eleanor. He watched as Treville wrestled with himself; his desire to keep Eleanor safe warring with his knowledge that d’Artagnan was right. Finally, the Captain sighed.

“Alright, but she is to be within sight of a musketeer at all times.” d’Artagnan tried not to let his sigh of relief be too visible, but nodded his thanks at the Captain and cast his gaze back to the paper he held. It seemed that watching Eleanor might be easier next time.


	11. Chapter 11

Porthos made his way through the house, a mug of ale freshly procured from the kitchen in his hands. A soft whirring sound caught his attention and he made his way towards it, finally locating the source in the study.

Eleanor sat near the window, a spinning wheel that Porthos had not noticed before in front of her. He watched, fascinated as her foot moved, setting the wheel to spin as her fingers deftly pulled at the combed wool in her hand, drawing the fibres steadily towards the bobbin. As she spun, she hummed to herself, rocking gently back and forth to the tune and moving in and out of a shaft of sunlight that shone through the window, turning her skin to marble and her hair to fire. For a moment, Porthos was mesmerized, her steady movement and soft humming captivating him. He winced as a floorboard creaked under his foot and the humming stopped, breaking the spell as she turned her head towards him.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

“It’s alright; I was only doing it for the sake of something to do. My mother taught me to spin, more than likely to keep me out of trouble, I think. She said that being blind did not mean that I could avoid every household task.” She smiled fondly, her fingers still moving steadily.

“She sounds like a good woman.” Porthos could not keep his gaze from her hands, still drawing the fibres of wool out, the movements were rhythmic, hypnotizing.

“She was, she never gave up on me like some had advised her to. She was determined that a lack of sight should not stop me. Father always said that she was like a lioness with a cub.” Eleanor’s smile had grown sad and for some reason he could not fathom, her sadness touched Porthos and he determined to change the subject.

“Did she teach you that tune you were humming?” He was delighted when the question had the desired affect; Eleanor’s face brightened.

“No, that’s the tune to one of my favourite dances.”

“Seems to be a favourite thing of yours, dancing.”

“I love to dance, but only when it’s not for other people’s entertainment.” Her face darkened just for a moment.

“Was a good dance though,” Porthos could not keep the admiration from his voice, his thoughts flashing back to the graceful, perfectly timed movements of his friend and the woman before him.

“The right partner helped.” Eleanor’s cheek had lifted in a half smile.

“He did well. It’s funny, I’ve known him for five, nearly six years and he never let on that he could dance.”

“He’s noble born; he would have had a dance master almost as soon as he could walk. He was reluctant to do it though.”

“He’s a good man, if the Captain’s in a tight spot; there ain’t nothing he won’t do to help, same if any of us was in trouble.”

“I thought as much.” She smiled softly and Porthos looked at her, unsure as to her meaning. She had continued to spin as they spoke and now reached down to the basket set beside her on a small table as she came near the end of the wool in her lap. When she frowned, Porthos saw that the basket was empty, and she reached out to stop the wheel. Sighing, she turned on her stool to face him. “Well that’s done with for the moment then; tell me, Porthos, do you dance?”

Her question caught him unawares and Porthos looked at her sharply, wary of the question should it be designed to trap him. It would not be the first time he had come across such attitudes. However, there was no guile on her face, merely polite curiosity. He decided to tell her the truth, she was likely to hear it anyway, or perhaps she already had. It would be best to find out now if scorn was forthcoming.

“Nah, not much cause to learn if you grow up on the streets; wouldn’t mind learning someday though. Aramis says it helps with sword work.”

“Yes, I’ve heard that too.” She tilted her head at him, one corner of her mouth raised in a half smile. There was no trace of mockery or trickery. She paused for a moment, as though wondering if her next words would be welcome. “Would you like me to teach you the basics?”

“Well I...” Porthos was unsure, but then again, he reasoned, it was not as though she could watch his first attempts and laugh at him. “If you’re sure.”

“Well it’s not as though we both have anywhere else to be.” She smiled and stood, leading him from the study and to the dining room.

Eleanor began to teach him the basics of the dance, moving with him across the room and guiding him by feel. She was patient and kind, not concerned if he needed to practice steps multiple times. As they danced, they spoke and laughed, enjoying the simple pleasure of each other’s company, and learning something new.

It was nearly sunset when Athos came to the house to find Porthos and Eleanor sat in the dining room, each with a glass of wine in front of them. Across the table were platters with bread, meats, and cheese. Athos was surprised to see Eleanor looking more relaxed than he had anticipated; he had seen Aramis earlier in the day and his friend had told him of the girls’ unhappiness and he had almost expected to find her pacing again. Although he had spent more time in her company than any of the others, he still did not fancy his chances at calming her if she was irritable. As he stepped into the room, Eleanor’s head turned towards him, a smile forming on her features as she recognised his footsteps.

“There’s still plenty of food left, monsieur, if you have not eaten.” Anna came bustling into the room, addressing Athos as she wiped her hands on her apron. “Right, my dear, there’s a bath ready upstairs for you; all that dancing will have left your hair with as many tangles as an unattended ball of yarn.” Eleanor grimaced, but rose to her feet without protest.

“Goodnight, Porthos, Athos.” Without another word she turned and meekly followed Anna from the room. Athos turned to Porthos; one corner of his mouth quirked in a smile.

“Dancing?” Looking at him, Porthos could see that his friend was merely curious and not mocking.

“She started teaching me the basics; not sure how good I was.”

“It takes practice; the best of dancers stumbled when they first started learning.” Athos sat in one of the chairs and reached for the platter of cheese.

“Guess you’re right.” Porthos paused, his gaze sweeping over Athos and concern in his dark eyes. “You look done in.” There were dark circles under Athos’ eyes and his face was more pale than usual.

“I stayed up with Treville all night to look through the records.”

“Have you had any rest?”

“Some, I’ll be alright.” He looked up as Porthos sighed.

“Honestly, you and Aramis are gonna be the death of me; both of you believe that you can exist without sleep.” He stood, picking up his hat from the table. “Get some rest tonight, Anna’s made up beds in the other rooms.”

“I can’t, what if something happens?” Worry flashed briefly in the blue eyes.

“Then you’ll wake up. Treville said we could sleep while we were here; he must think that she’s safe enough in the house.”

“Alright, I’ll get some sleep later,” Athos sounded as though he was no longer fighting the idea, and Porthos nodded, satisfied. He pushed his hat onto his head before making his way to the door, leaving Athos alone at the table.

Eleanor shivered as Anna poured another jug of water over her head; the bath was growing cold and her wet hair lay across her back, making her shudder.

“There, that’s the last of the soap; come on, out.” Anna reached out, taking Eleanor’s arm, and helping her out of the bath. Quickly she helped the girl dry off the water that cascaded down her body before helping her into a night robe and sitting her down to brush the tangles from her hair.

Athos heard the scream from the bedroom and was on his feet in an instant, taking the stairs two at a time. He burst through the door to Eleanor's room, stopping in horror at the scene in front of him. Eleanor stood, tears running down her cheeks as her hair was gripped from behind, pulling her head up and exposing her pale throat to the wicked knife blade held against it. Athos looked past her to her captor, feeling his heart stop when he saw who it was.

Milady stood there, as dark and beautiful as when he had last seen her and had granted her freedom. She stared back at him, a triumphant smile on her face and her eyes cold.

"So, this is what you protect." Her gaze flicked to Eleanor. "Well she's a beauty, I'll give you that; I never thought red-heads would be to your tastes."

"Anne..."

"Don't, Athos, can't you see? It's perfect, if she dies here, now, under your guard then that's it; your Captain goes mad and his trust in you will be destroyed. I can destroy you both for the price of one murder."

She pulled savagely on Eleanor's hair and the girl cried out as her head was forced back. Before Athos could move, Milady's wrist had flicked, sending the bright blade across Eleanor's throat. He shouted out, a wordless noise of horror as Eleanor grasped at her throat, dark blood running between her fingers as she crumpled to the floor.

He reached her in a few strides, almost heedless of Milady as she fled. Eleanor still moved, her chest rising and falling in pained gasps as she fought for breath, the blood flowing over both of their hands in what seemed to be a never-ending stream.

Athos sat up, his breath coming in short, panicked gasps and his eyes wild as he looked around the dark room. Quickly he swung his legs from the bed, wiping his hand across the cold sweat on his skin. Although he told himself that it was just a nightmare, much like any of the others he endured most nights, it had seemed too real and he needed to reassure himself. Quietly he made his way down the hall, not bothering with a lamp to guide him. He paused outside Eleanor's door, taking a deep breath, and fighting to regain control of his heart that still beat a wild tattoo against his ribs.

Carefully, so as not to make a sound, he opened the door, fearful of what he might see. Eleanor slept peacefully; her features soft in the pale shaft of moonlight that shone through the window and her breathing deep and even. He felt almost instant relief as he looked at her fair face. Athos swept his gaze about the room before looking once more at her; satisfied at last, he slipped back out into the hall and closed the door softly behind him, knowing that he would have no more sleep this night.

It was a few hours later when Athos sat at the head of the dining table, a glass of wine in his hand; he had almost, but not quite consumed the whole bottle, unable to shake the images of his nightmare from his mind. He looked up as soft footfalls sounded in the hall and leapt to his feet as Eleanor stepped into the room, a diaphanous robe over her nightgown that floated behind her as she moved. He had seen once in one of his brother’s storybooks a picture of a fairy queen; and he thought that now, with her red hair tumbling down her back and her pale skin almost luminous in the shimmering candlelight that she could have been that fairy, stepping barefoot over the bare flagstones of the floor. Her head tilted towards him as his chair scraped across the flagstones, breaking the momentary spell and she smiled.

“You don’t have to stand every time I walk into a room, you know,” there was no reproach in her voice.

“An ingrained habit.” He gave a wry smile and settled back into his chair.

“Ah yes.” Eleanor made her way around the table to the seat next to him, her fingers tracing lightly over the grain of the wood. Athos did not quite manage to move the wine bottle before her fingers touched it and was forced to catch it quickly as it tilted dangerously.

“Was there something you needed?”

“No, I merely woke up and couldn’t get back to sleep.” She gave a half shrug as she sat down.

“I’ll leave you alone.” Athos made to rise from his chair, but Eleanor reached out a hand to stop him.

“If I wanted to be alone, I would have stayed in my room. However, I see you already have company.” Her graceful fingers motioned to where the wine bottle had been.

“I...” Although Athos had assumed that she would hear about his drinking at some point, he was for some reason, thrown off guard now that she knew.

“Don’t worry, I’m not judging you. Although a whole bottle and no slur in your speech suggests a hard head born of practice,” once again, her voice held no reproach, and Athos sensed it was merely an observation as opposed to judgement.

“I have my reasons.” He could not bring himself to tell her that this time; he drank because he had dreamt of her.

“I’m sure you do.” She tilted her head slowly to one side as though she were considering him. “I only wonder what could have happened to damage such a good heart.” Her statement, voiced so softly, completely caught him off guard and he glanced at her sharply.

“You are mistaken; my heart is not good.” One corner of her mouth turned up at his denial and she let out a breath that might have been a laugh.

“And that is where you are wrong.”

“You seem very sure of yourself.” He watched her face as he spoke, noting the small smile that had formed at his words, but realised that she was not laughing at him, more acknowledging him.

“I have no sight so cannot read a person as you would; I have had to learn to read a person’s character in other ways, and I have learned well, just ask my father.”

“You’re still wrong.”

Athos could not think of a suitable counter argument, not without listing some of the deeds in his past that still haunted his sleep, and he would not burden her with those. However, that small smile still lingered, almost as though she knew something he did not.

“I wonder, would your friends agree?”

“Well you have me there.” He could not deny her; Aramis and Porthos made an annoying habit of reminding him of what virtues they believed he had and attempting to change his opinion of himself. It was disconcerting; the girl’s observations were like well-aimed musket balls, although he sensed they were not aimed to hurt.

“I thought I might.” That smile still lingered at the corner of her mouth.

“You’re still wrong.” He would not concede the point.

“Am I? A high-born noble in the musketeers with what seems to be an unhealthy level of self-loathing, and an empty bottle of wine says differently.” She had hit close to the mark with that one and it unnerved him at just how close she was getting. He decided to return fire.

“You talk of my damaged heart; what about your own?” There was the smile again, and the breath that sounded like a derisive laugh.

“Ah well, it takes one to know one I suppose. Let us just say that marriage is not always a happy affair.” Her eyes were distant, her mind drifting back to the past for a moment.

“Your husband mistreated you?” Athos frowned, hoping he was not correct in his assumption.

“Luc believed that his wife should be completely under control.” Her mouth twisted in a grimace and her fingers moved softly over one another.

“Then I would say he married the wrong woman.” Athos could not stop himself from smiling at this; the very thought of trying to control Eleanor in any way was more than he cared to contemplate. Having seen her temper, he was certain it could not be done.

“You would say right.” She paused, chewing her lip as she thought, almost as though she were wondering how much she could tell him. “I will not go into detail, but God forgive me when I say that I did not lament him when a horse kicked him to death.”

“I can only imagine that both you and the horse had good reason.” He would not have said he was shocked; it would take a great deal more than that to shock him. But he had not expected such a revelation and he sensed that it was not something that a great many people knew.

“I must ask you, Athos, please do not tell my father what I have told you.”

“He doesn’t know?”

“No, and I never intend him to.” The pain and sudden worry in her eyes were such that even if he had wished to, he could not refuse her.

“You have my word.”

“Thank you.” She smiled gratefully and reached towards him, groping slightly until she found his hand where it rested on the tabletop; she squeezed it gently, her gratitude apparent. After a moment she stood. “I think I had better go back to bed, or else Anna will know that I haven’t slept; I swear even if she’s not here she knows everything.”

“The sign of a good housekeeper.” He smiled when she laughed. “Goodnight, Eleanor.”

“Goodnight, Athos.”

Eleanor stood, tracing her way along the tabletop until she reached the arm of his chair and used it to guide herself around the table. Athos did not move as she made her way around behind him, fearful of crushing her fingers. As she traced her way along the back of his chair, the tips of her fingers brushed his back through his shirt, and he tried his hardest not to shiver. After a moment she moved away and made her way to the door without incident. Before she left the room, a thought struck him, and he spoke.

“What happened to the horse?” Eleanor paused; her head turned back over her shoulder towards him. Athos tried not to look at the graceful arc of her neck or her hair that was the colour of autumn leaves.

“She’s the one I brought with me to Paris.” With a quick smile she was gone, leaving him alone with his thoughts, the scent of lavender hanging in the air in her wake.

Eleanor made her way softly through the house, counting the steps as she made her way up towards her room, her fingers trailing along the smooth wood of the banister. Once she reached her room she slipped inside and shut the door quietly behind her, hearing the latch drop into place with a soft click. She turned, pressing her back to the door and relishing the solid feel of the wood against her, grounding her and allowing her to gather her thoughts.

During her time in Paris so far, she had grown to know the characters of her father's favourite four: Aramis, a romantic guided by both his faith and his friends, restless as a summer breeze. Porthos, strong and solid as the earth on the outside with a tender soul at his core. D'Artagnan, young and brash with a fiery temper, held in check by the guidance of his friends. Then there was Athos...Athos as mysterious as the sea; he puzzled her greatly, she could tell that he was honourable, as were they all, but there was an underlying sadness that ran through him like a river, evident at all times. She could hear it always in his quiet reservation and every nuance of his voice, and she had never heard him laugh; all of the others were quick in their joy, laughing often and although she had heard Athos make a wry comment, a smile evident in his voice, he had never laughed in her presence.

Eleanor sighed, making her way across the room to her bed and pulling the heavy coverlet over herself. As she settled back to sleep, she felt a great sadness for Athos and wished that she could find a way to ease his sorrow.


	12. Chapter 12

The days passed, turning to weeks; Treville sent enquiries across France, searching for any information on the pile of records that still sat in the centre of his desk. As each reply came back, a record was rolled back up and carefully filed back in its place. There were still many records to enquire after, and still more left on the shelves to check. It was a seemingly neverending task.

Eleanor spent her waking hours in the company of one or other of the musketeers and her nights watched over by another. With d’Artagnan she went to the garrison stables to spend time with her horse; when they were not at the garrison, they spent their time talking about horses and sharing knowledge and stories of both the animals and their shared memories of Gascony. Days with Aramis were spent listening to him read and discussing the books, often ending up in lively debate. With Porthos she danced, teaching him more and more steps. When they were not dancing, he watched her work at the spinning wheel, mesmerised as her hands worked the wool into yarn. Time with Athos was spent in quiet conversation; she told him of her childhood and life before Paris and he imparted what happy memories he had left of his life before the musketeers and stories of things he and his friends had done. In all their conversations, one topic never came up; that of either of their marriages, each sensing that the topic would bring unhappiness to the other. As they spent time together, talking of everything and nothing, or in comfortable silence, each began to trust the other.

It was late one evening when Athos made his way to the house, following Anna down the hall to the dining room, his feet making no sound on the wooden floorboards. Ahead he could hear movement and the deep rumble of Porthos’ voice followed by Eleanor’s soft laugh. The door to the dining room was partly closed and Anna paused, motioning for Athos to wait with her. Obediently he stopped just behind her, looking over her shoulder into the room beyond.

Porthos had a grasp on Eleanor’s hand that belied a man of his size and strength. She moved lightly around him and appeared to be gliding rather than stepping. As she stepped in front of him, he smoothly transferred her hand to his shoulder and grasped her waist, lifting her high before gently setting her down.

“I don’t like to disturb them; your friend is enjoying his lessons I think,” Anna’s voice was so low that Athos had to strain to hear it.

“The lady is an excellent teacher.” Athos watched as the dance finished. Porthos bowed while Eleanor sank into an elegant curtsey, her hair glinting like burnished copper in the light of the candles. She stood, her smile lighting the room more than any candle and Anna glanced at Athos, shaking her head before pushing the door open.

“You are better with each dance, monsieur.” She waved away Porthos’ mumbled protests with a flick of her hand, pouring wine with the other and handing a glass to each musketeer before carefully placing one into Eleanor’s hand. Athos sipped at the wine and moved to the table, carefully depositing his hat next to the wine jug. Porthos drained his glass quickly and reached for his doublet where it lay across the back of a chair.

“Best go; got to meet someone.”

“Who?” Athos quirked an eyebrow at his friend’s haste.

“Flea, to see if she’s heard anything.”

“Of course.” Athos could not keep the gentle sarcasm from his voice. They both glanced at Eleanor as she gave a gentle cough that was almost certainly concealing a laugh; if that had not been obvious then the delicate hand over her smile would have been.

Porthos smiled and shook his head, buttoning his jerkin. “And with that, I’m going. Goodnight, Eleanor.”

“Goodnight, Porthos.”

Eleanor had more or less regained control of herself, although the smallest of smiles still lingered in the corner of her mouth. Porthos shook his head again and nodded a farewell to Athos before heading for the door. Anna sighed before gathering up Porthos’ wine glass and making her way from the room.

Athos turned to Eleanor, placing his empty glass on the table. "He appears to be improving."

"Indeed, he is, he doesn't quite have your natural grace though." She cocked her head to one side and smiled, her expression inviting and almost impish.

Her fingers reached towards him, beckoning and inviting. Athos smiled as he took the unspoken invitation and unbuckled his sword belt, placing it next to his hat on the table before removing his doublet and placing it over a chair. Carefully he moved across the room towards her, his steps steady and measured. Eleanor stood in the centre of the room; her head turned towards him as she listened to his slow approach.

"I think it may be a case of practice also." He knew his smile was evident in his voice when she smiled in return.

He took the last few steps towards her, taking her hand and her smile brightened as she felt him step back to bow. She sank into a curtsey and he stepped around her as she rose, spinning her with him as he moved, her skirts brushing against him. Her hand was light in his and her feet barely made a sound as she danced with him, her body so close that he could feel the heat from her skin. Her hair shone in the candlelight as she spun gracefully and he caught her as she stopped, his hands firm on her waist as he lifted her.

When he set her down her cheeks were flushed, and her face was full of delight. It was only now, dancing here without audience or the thought of the King's amusement hanging over them that Athos saw Eleanor's true enjoyment of the dance. Her unbridled joy and happiness lit up the room, catching him up so that just for a few moments he shared that happiness and could almost forget his own darkness.

They continued to dance, her laughter sounding as they moved about the room and her trust in him complete as he guided her. From the hall, unnoticed by either of them, Anna watched, smiling fondly as she saw her charge truly happy.

Later that evening, Eleanor lay in the bath, feeling the steam rising around her. She liked the bath, it gave her time to think, to be alone with nothing but her thoughts and the crackle of the fire. Although she enjoyed the company of the musketeers, currently, she wanted solitude.

Her first, true conversation with Athos weeks ago had swirled in her mind, replaying in an endless loop. Eleanor worried that she had perhaps given away something she shouldn’t when she had told him of her marriage. It had seemed only fair to tell him something after his obvious irritation at her observations. She believed Athos completely when he had promised her that he would say nothing to her father, and he not mentioned it since.

Eleanor swirled her hands through the warm water and felt a sprig of lavender brush her fingers. She scooped it up, the soft scent becoming stronger as she ran the buds of the flower over her cheek, feeling the trail of water droplets it left on her skin. Her thoughts turned to Athos, and she felt again the touch of his hand on hers as they danced.

Despite his initial taciturnity, Athos’ presence was calming and steady. He had, perhaps unknowingly, been the reassurance she had needed to remain calm through the ordeal that had been the ball. Despite herself, Eleanor had, in the later weeks of their practice sessions, found herself listening for his knock at the door, and smiling unguardedly when he had arrived. Now she looked forward to his company, to quiet conversation. She had been uncertain if he would take her invitation to dance, and had felt a warmth spread through her when he had taken her outstretched hand.

She knew that they had all watched over her as she had fought for her life, and sometimes she fancied she could remember their voices, the words unclear. But, if she concentrated hard enough, Eleanor was sure she could vaguely recall Athos’ voice, telling her that she must live. Eleanor had told no one of this, unsure as to whether it had been real or yet another of the fever dreams; but she treasured the thought of his words.

Sighing and shifting, the warm water swirling about her, Eleanor brushed the lavender over her cheek once more, smiling to herself.

It was much later when Athos sat at the table alone, Eleanor having long gone to bath and bed. A glass of wine sat beside his hand, but the rest of the bottle was not required tonight; when she was not being irritatingly observant, he found Eleanor’s company peaceful and undemanding, her happiness lifting his own spirits. He shifted his hand on the table, clenching it as the memory of her waist in his grasp flickered across his mind. He could still smell the faint lavender from her, some of it must have remained on him, transferred during their dance. Although initially he had been reluctant to dance with her, wanting nothing less than to revisit that part of his life, he had come to look forward to the time spent with her. Tonight he had been more than willing to join her when she had reached out her hand to him, her smile more than enough reward for unearthing an old skill.

A sudden sound of voices caught his attention from the hall, and he looked up sharply as the door opened to reveal a downhearted looking Alice, closely followed by Anna.

“I still don’t understand.” The young maid looked as though she might dissolve into tears at any moment.

“Just trust me, dear girl, when I say he is not for you. You will find a man one day, but not him.” Anna patted the girl on the arm. “Now go home and sleep; it will be better tomorrow.” The girl nodded and turned to the hallway, a moment later Athos heard the front door close and Anna sighed wearily. “I’m sorry about that, monsieur.”

“Is she all right?”

“Ah it’s nothing, she has calves’ eyes for your friend, the monsieur Aramis and I have told her that he is not for her.” Anna pulled a vase of flowers from the windowsill and brought it to the table, sitting down in one of the chairs.

“You’re right; he is not what you would call...suitable marriage material for the young lady.” Athos watched as the housekeeper began sorting through the flowers, pulling some of the dead blooms from the vase and setting them to one side.

“I should think not, he has his choice of well bred, beautiful women at the court so I’m told. Not that young Alice is not pretty of course, but his is a game that she does not understand.” She sighed and shook her head. “Although one day he will meet his match in a beautiful woman, then the game shall change. After all, there is nothing more dangerous to a man than a woman who knows that she is beautiful.”

“How so?” Athos sipped his wine, watching her over the rim of the glass.

“They know the effect that it has on a man and they know well how to manipulate them.”

“I see.”

“I would hazard you do, having been on the losing side of that game yourself I think.” She glanced up at him, catching the guarded expression on his face and waved a hand. “Ach do not worry yourself, monsieur; I have four sons and at the moment six grandsons. The look of one wounded by a woman is one that I know all too well.” She smiled as Athos visibly relaxed upon realising that the details of his marriage were not public knowledge after all.

“A common danger then,” only years of carefully schooled neutrality kept his voice level.

Athos reached for the wine bottle, refilling his glass, although he was not quite in need of the entire bottle just yet, the need for another glass was pressing after Anna’s keen observation. For a moment he wondered if all women in Treville’s acquaintance were this observant, or just his daughter and housekeeper. It was mildly unsettling.

“It is, although in the same notion there is no greater danger to a woman than being beautiful and not knowing it.” Anna pulled out the last dead flower and proceeded to re-arrange the remaining ones.

“You will have to explain that one.” Athos’ interest was piqued; this was not a sentiment he had ever heard.

“A woman unaware of her own beauty is unaware of the effect it can have; she is unprepared for what men might do. The young mistress is a prime example.”

“She doesn’t know?”

“How can she? She has never seen her face in a looking glass; the way her skin glows or her hair falls and shines like fire in the sun. She has never seen the way men’s eyes follow where she moves, or the way you stare every time she smiles.”

At her last words Athos choked on his wine in what he thought could only be the most undignified of manners. He coughed, trying not to sputter too much, and looked at the old housekeeper, the lines around her eyes deep as her face crinkled in a smile.

“Madame...”

“Oh, don’t think I have not noticed; you watch everywhere she goes, smile when she smiles and indulge her in everything.”

“No…I…Madame…”

Anna levelled her gaze at him, silencing him. “It’s Eleanor who is blind, monsieur, not me. But I think it is a little more than simple lust aye?”

“Even if it were...if I did it could never...”

“Tsk, enough.” Anna waved her hand, dismissing his protests. “Even a soldier must know when a woman likes him; that girl never smiles more than when you are around.”

“She is the Captain’s daughter.” To Athos, his voice sounded weak and he tried not to stumble on his words in the face of the woman’s knowing smile.

“And you are his best soldier. What better lover could a woman ask for?” her voice was softer now and her eyes kind as she looked at him.

The flowers finally arranged to her satisfaction she stood once more, placing the vase back on the shelf and scooping up the dead flowers from the table before bidding him goodnight and leaving quietly for her own home.

Athos sat alone long after the last candle had died. His hair was ruffled from where he had run his fingers through it repeatedly as his conversation with Anna ran round his head in never ending circles, dancing endlessly with images of Eleanor as she spun gracefully, her skirts swirling and her hair flying. She was like fire and he was sure that if he touched her then he was certain to get burnt.

_But when could a moth ever resist a flame?_

Sighing, he reached for the rest of the wine.

The next morning, Aramis sat next to Athos on the bench, concern in his eyes as he swept his gaze over his friend. Athos was more pale than usual with dark shadows under his eyes. Although Aramis was used to seeing his friend in various states and stages of a hangover, this was different. He looked exhausted and burdened, as though a great weight was pressing down on him.

"You look like you haven't slept a wink, my friend, was all well with Eleanor last night?"

Athos did not look at him but placed his elbow on the table and rested his cheek in his hand. "Nothing happened, I was thinking."

"About what? It must have been serious if you stayed up all night."

"Nothing I care to share."

"Suit yourself." Unworried by his friend’s unwelcoming tone, Aramis reached for a loaf of bread and tore off a chunk. "I'm here if you need to tell me."

"I know." Athos voice was quiet, and Aramis was not sure if it was from exhaustion or if his mind was still turning circles over whatever he had been thinking about.

They looked up as voices sounded and d'Artagnan entered the garrison, one hand on Eleanor's arm as he led her towards the stables. Jacques the stable boy saw them coming, and hastily ran to move the bucket he had left in the walkway that ran between the stalls. Carefully, d'Artagnan reached into his pocket and pulled out two apples, placing one in Eleanor's hand before leaving her with her mare and offering the other to his own horse a few stalls away. Eleanor held out the apple, smiling as her mare took it, crunching happily. She caressed the animals' powerful neck as the horse ate, murmuring softly. The mare finished the apple and reached out her head, nudging hopefully. Eleanor laughed merrily, her fingers finding the velvety nose and pushing it away as the horse attempted to nibble at the edge of her dress.

"There's nothing else for you, don't be greedy." She laughed again as the horse whickered, the merry sound floating over to where Athos and Aramis sat.

Athos watched as she spoke to her horse, thinking again on what Anna had said and shaking his head quickly as he caught himself smiling at her laugh. Beside him he felt Aramis sit up suddenly as though a musket shot had sounded. Glancing to one side, Athos saw the sharpshooter look at Eleanor, then look at him, a look of disbelief on his face.

"What?" Athos felt the lack of a night's sleep now and was in no mood for Aramis' cryptic looks.

"My God...you're falling for her." Aramis’ voice was low, almost as though he could not believe what he was saying.

"She's...intriguing." Athos could not currently think of a better word to put in place of what he wanted to say.

"Treville will have your guts." Aramis' eyes darted up to the balcony, almost as though he expected the Captain to appear at any moment.

"You're a fine one to talk about women who are off limits."

"The Captain scares me more than the King." Aramis' reply was instant, and Athos could not disagree, Treville was by far a more fearsome man than the King and he was certain that his Captain could be far more creative in matters of punishment.

"Well I'm not planning on letting anything happen." Athos kept his voice low, not wanting anyone else to be aware of their topic of conversation for both of their sakes.

"Neither was I." Aramis turned on the bench, gazing at Athos steadily, all trace of disbelief gone from his eyes. "But if it does, my friend, then I would not blame you; she is beautiful, lively and intelligent. Also, if anyone deserves a little happiness it's you."

"Are you trying to encourage this?" Athos ran a hand through his hair, with no sleep and his normal guarded control clearly not up to scratch, this conversation was too much. Although he could not deny what Anna had clearly seen, he had not been ready to admit it to himself and most certainly not to Aramis.

"Well no," Aramis said slowly. "I still think Treville will hang you from the garrison gate, but there are two sides to everything, and you should consider both. I only say that if you do touch her then you're a braver man than I am."

He clapped Athos on the shoulder and both of them jumped as they heard the door to Treville's office open and his footsteps on the balcony. The Captain made his way down the stairs and both musketeers did their best to not appear guilty as he passed.

They watched as he made his way to the stables, kissing Eleanor on the cheek when he reached her and putting out a hand to stroke the horse as he conversed with his daughter. The musketeers looked on as Eleanor's face flickered between anger and frustration and Treville looked as though he was attempting to placate her. Finally, her face softened a little and she nodded, after a few moments more Treville kissed her cheek again and walked away, leaving her alone with the horse. He made his way to the bench and sat down heavily opposite them.

"Is she all right, Sir?" It was Aramis who dared speak first.

"Not really; I just had to tell her that although we've narrowed the list down, we're not really any closer to finding out who attacked her which means she's still in danger." He sighed, turning to look at his daughter. "It's worse than telling the King."

"What has he said?" Athos looked up, protectiveness flaring in him at the thought of what the King might say about Eleanor.

"Oh, nothing worse than usual. Mainly he just wants them caught, but as no one else has been attacked then he's not exactly bouncing up and down. But he did take a liking to Eleanor."

"I'm sure she's thrilled." The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, and even if he had tried, Athos did not think he could have kept the sarcasm from his voice.

"The only thing that will thrill her is if he leaves her alone." Treville sighed and moved to stand, pausing as he looked at Athos properly for the first time. “You, get some rest, report for duty this afternoon.” As Athos opened his mouth to protest, Treville gave him such a look that he immediately thought better of it and nodded. Satisfied, Treville stood and glanced at the gate as Porthos and several other musketeers entered the garrison. “Right, let’s get this rabble organised.”


	13. Chapter 13

"It would appear that with the girls' recovery they have vanished. Perhaps they do not have the stomach for it. I told you to pass them information, have they done nothing?" The Cardinal sat at his desk, his chin resting on his steepled fingers as he gazed steadily at Rochefort, who fidgeted under his look.

It pleased Richelieu to see the man look uncomfortable, yet also disappointed him a little; it had always taken far more than a steady gaze to make Milady falter, and he was certain that the woman would have ensured the death of Treville's daughter even if the poison had failed. While Rochefort had his uses, able to assist in planting words against Treville, Milady had been an accomplished and ruthless assassin, all too happy to deal death to anyone who displeased her.

"They are planning another attempt, but he has kept her hidden away since the attack; she is rarely allowed out and only with an escort."

"Ah yes, an escort of the finest musketeers," the Cardinal's tone was derisive. "Surely these people can deal with that. Ensure that the right information gets to the right people to allow them to put a plan into place and finish what they started."

He waved a hand, dismissing Rochefort and sat back in his chair to think. Although he was not willing to actually instruct any of his creatures to do the task, he wanted the girl and preferably one of Treville's favourites dead; it would strike a blow to Treville's heart and mind and leave both him and the musketeer regiment vulnerable. Despite her sharp tongue, he did not particularly dislike the girl, at least not enough to want her dead; but he was not in the habit of allowing personal feelings to get in the way of anything, especially if it would benefit him in the long run.

Rochefort made his way from the palace, collecting an old cloak from the stables as he went. Quickly he made his way through the streets, heading for the musketeer garrison and pulling the hood of the cloak up to conceal his face.

He paused at the mouth of an alley within sight of the garrison gate and leant against a wall to wait. In truth he thought the Cardinal was being unfair in blaming him for the failure of these people to kill one blind woman; self-pity was not in his nature though and he turned his eyes to the gate to watch for the girl. He was rewarded about an hour later when two figures left the garrison; the young whelp... d'Artagnan, that was it, walked through the gate, a woman holding onto his arm. Even under the hooded cloak that she wore, he could see a glimpse of red hair. He watched as they walked down the street, waiting for them to move a good distance before he slipped out of the alley and into the crowded street after them.

The next day, Aramis sat with Eleanor in the dining room, sipping at a glass of wine; the Captain really did keep an excellent stock and he had to admit that it was one of the perks to caring for Eleanor. They had sat in the study as he read to her and had discussed the book over supper; now he gazed at her as she ran her fingers over the table top, slowly moving a few spilled grains of salt across the wood.

“Did you never consider marrying again after your husband died?” Eleanor’s fingers continued to move the salt grains and one corner of her mouth lifted in a smile.

“No; although not for lack of trying on my aunt’s part.”

“She cared for you?”

“Yes, after my mother died. It was my aunt who arranged my marriage and cared for me after Luc died.” The smile turned rueful. “She arranged meetings with several suitors after I came out of mourning. I refused them all.”

“No one appealed to you?” Aramis smiled, not finding it hard to believe that Eleanor had turned down suitors without a second thought.

“Oh, there were some that could have appealed.”

“But...”

“Not one of them could see past the point that I was blind. That was all they could talk about, how I would need to be cared for or how I could not be a ‘proper wife’. None of them bothered to ask what I could do; only what I couldn’t.”

“A perfectly valid reason to turn them down.”

“It’s nothing uncommon; very few people see past it. Sometimes I wonder if it’s only me who’s blind.” Her words saddened Aramis and he realised for the first time, a part of the isolation that Eleanor suffered.

“Then people are foolish, for they are missing a beautiful, bright and engaging young woman with as quick a mind as I have ever known.” He reached out, grasping her hand where it rested on the tabletop and squeezing it, relieved to see a slight smile appear as she closed her fingers around his, grateful for his words.

“You are being kind I think, but thank you.”

“Flattery is something I’m well practiced in, but this time, it is not just flattery, it’s all true.” Her smile told him that she did not quite believe him but that she was grateful anyway. “Come, we still have some time before Athos arrives, what would you like to do?”

Athos made his way across the garrison courtyard, pushing his main gauche back into the sheath behind his back. It had lost its edge recently and he had just collected it from the garrison smith, the new edge almost fine enough to shave the hairs from his arm.

"Athos." Treville's voice echoed through the courtyard, stopping Athos in his tracks and he turned to see the Captain leaning against the railing outside his office, his expression unreadable as he stared down at his soldier.

Quickly the musketeer turned, making his way up the stairs to his Captain. It was only when he reached the top of the stairs that he saw the tension running through Treville’s shoulders and the tight grip on the railing, knuckles straining against the skin. "The King wants to see Eleanor again; you're to take her to the palace as soon as you've relieved Aramis.”

"Yes, Sir." Without another word, Treville nodded, effectively dismissing him, and turned away.

Athos turned and made his way back down the steps, a small sigh of exasperation escaping him. The King was fascinated with Eleanor, and either did not see or care that the girl did not take kindly to being treated like a toy. As he walked through the darkening streets, Athos wondered what on earth the King could possibly want with her this time. A twist of horror caught his insides as he thought of what kings often asked of beautiful young women. No. Surely even this foolish monarch would not ask that of her, not of the daughter of one of his closest advisors. God help them all if he had set his sights on her in that way. Athos shook himself, realising that this was unlikely. He sighed once again as he realised that she was unlikely to be in a good mood after the visit and that it could not possibly bode well for him.

Anna showed him into the dining room where Eleanor and Aramis sat at the table, each holding a piece of charcoal and sketching on the papers in front of them. A pot sat on the table and Eleanor ran one hand over it as she drew with the other. Aramis' head was bent over his paper, the tip of his tongue sticking out as he concentrated on his drawing. Anna looked at them and shook her head, a fond smile on her face as she left the room. Athos walked up to stand behind the chairs, watching as Eleanor mirrored the movement of one hand with the other. He looked between the drawings in amusement.

"Hers is better than yours." He smirked as Aramis jumped; a scowl forming on the marksman’s face as Eleanor laughed.

"She's had more practice," Aramis huffed as he sat back and looked from his drawing to Eleanor's. "But I suppose you're right." He shrugged at Athos in an _oh well_ gesture and rose from his chair, dropping the charcoal stick onto the tabletop.

"I told you not to challenge her." Anna bustled back into the room, untying her apron and removing it as she walked.

"And in future, Madame I shall be sure to follow your advice." Aramis placed a hand on his chest and bowed gallantly, a mischievous grin on his face.

"Off with you, you rascal." She flapped the apron at him, and he laughed, picking up his hat and placing it carefully on his head.

"Until next time. Eleanor, it was a pleasure losing to you at drawing."

"Perhaps next time you might win." She smiled sweetly at him and he took her hand, kissing it gently before leaving; they could hear his light footsteps as he made his way to the door.

"Well you beat him soundly." Athos sat in the recently vacated chair, casting his gaze once more over the two sketches. Eleanor’s had the right shape and was quite clearly the pot on the table, the lines clean and smooth. Aramis’ attempt could be identified as the pot only if one knew what it was supposed to be.

"Is his really that bad?" A smile still played across her features.

"Well it is most certainly not good." She laughed merrily, the beautiful sound filling the dining room and he could not stop his answering smile.

The scent of lavender reached him, and Athos realised that he had missed the scent while away from the house. He took a deep breath, knowing that his next words would put an end to her laughter.

"The King wishes to see you again, tonight." He was right, the smile immediately dropped from her face and her eyes grew colder than a winters’ morning.

"Again? What does he want now?" Her voice was level, but Athos could detect her underlying annoyance.

"I'm not certain, but the Captain has asked me to escort you to the palace."

Eleanor sighed. “The man is a petulant child.”

“He’s older than you.”

“He will be a child until he is free from the Cardinal’s skirts,” her breath huffed out in an exasperated sigh and she crossed her arms in annoyance.

“A valid point.” Athos could not hold back a smirk.

"Fine. I suppose we should go then." She stood and Anna appeared with a cloak over her arm, carefully draping it over Eleanor's shoulders.

"Do you want me to wait until you return, child?" She watched Eleanor’s face, noting the anger that still burned there and wondering what would happen when she returned from the palace.

"No, we'll be fine; you go on home, Anna." Eleanor reached out and Athos took her arm, guiding her out onto the streets.

When they reached the palace, they were shown to one of the halls where the King sat playing with one of his model ships, putting small masts into place on the miniature decks. Athos held back a sigh of relief, model ships were hardly the opening to a seduction, he doubted even Aramis could have pulled that off. Louis looked up as they entered, an idiotic grin spreading across his features. Athos guided Eleanor to stand close to the King and stepped back to stand a few paces to the side of her. He saw Eleanor’s fingers clench as though missing the touch of his hand before she gathered herself and sank into a low curtsey, her hair falling to shadow her face as she lowered her head.

"Madame Ardoin, I am glad to see you again. I heard you were attacked."

Eleanor gave a genuine smile and inclined her head, but Athos could see that an underlying tension that rippled across her shoulders and back, giving her an air of wariness, as though she might flee at any moment.

"I am quite recovered, majesty. It was kind of you to ask.”

"Not at all; we can’t have young ladies being attacked like that; it isn’t seemly.” The King paused and for one moment, Athos thought that the man was genuinely concerned for the girl; this was shattered when the monarch opened his mouth again. “I would hate for you to be too ill to dance; it was quite entertaining to watch. You shall have to dance for us again. Life at court can be so boring at times; I love to find new things to see."

Through the Kings’ rattling, Athos had watched Eleanor carefully. Her face had grown harder and harder until she resembled a sculpture of ice and stone. As the King finished, she spoke, her voice level but cold.

"Of course, sire, I will be happy to dance for your entertainment whenever you wish."

"Well I would expect nothing less but excellent. I look forward to seeing you again soon."

He turned back to his model and Eleanor curtsied once more, not the deep respectful one of before but the slightest dip of her shoulder and inclination of her head. She turned, her hand reaching out and Athos took it, his other hand coming to rest on her back as he guided her quickly from the room, eager to remove her from the King’s presence as soon as he could.

"Take me home, Athos," Eleanor's voice was a hoarse whisper and he squeezed her hand in response, not daring to speak lest he tip her anger over the edge or give in to his own.

All the way back to the house Eleanor was silent. Athos glanced at her as they walked; she held her head high and her features might have been carved in marble for all the emotion she showed. The only sign of any reaction was the tension in her jaw and the waves of anger that seemed to radiate from her.

When they entered the house Athos closed the door carefully behind them and reached out to slip the cloak from Eleanor's shoulders, as his hands brushed against her he could feel that she was strung as tight as a bow string, and he thought that she might almost be ready to snap. As he turned to hang up the cloak, she moved down the hall towards the dining room, her back as straight as a ramrod and her anger clear in every carefully placed footstep.

Athos started as a crash sounded from the dining room. Dropping the cloak to the floor he turned and ran down the hall, drawing his sword as another crash echoed through the house. When he reached the door to the dining room he stopped, the scene in front of him rendering him suddenly uncertain.

Eleanor stood next to the table, her shoulders heaving with angry breaths. Two of the chairs lay at awkward angles partway across the floor. Athos pushed his sword back into the scabbard before taking a slow step into the room, attempting to gather his thoughts and form an idea of how to handle her rage.

"Eleanor?" He kept his voice low, not wanting to startle her or have her anger turned on him; he did not fancy testing her aim should she find something to throw.

"All my life I have been a subject of curiosity, fascination and even ridicule," her voice was steady but Athos was not such a fool as to think she was calm, he could detect the undercurrent of barely controlled anger and the set of her shoulders left him in no doubt. He said nothing as she continued. "But never have I been an object of entertainment as though I were some court _jester_." At the last word she flung the remaining chair away from her, sending it skidding across the floor. With a cry she gave voice to her rage and placed both hands on the edge of the table, pushing it away from her. Athos briefly marvelled at the strength that her anger gave her as the heavy oak table slid across the flagstones. A wooden bowl skittered across the table towards her and she picked it up as it hit her hand, flinging it away from her as angry sobs wracked her body.

Quickly Athos stepped forwards, reaching her in a few strides. He did not hesitate as he grasped her shoulders and, ignoring her angry struggles, turned her towards him. Tears fell down her cheeks as she pushed at his chest, fighting against him but he ignored it, allowing the thick leather of his jerkin to absorb the blows as he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her against him. He said nothing as he kept his arms firmly wrapped around her, slowly running one hand over her hair as her struggles ceased and she sobbed against his chest, pouring out her anger and hurt. He stood still and silent as she cried, knowing that for now it was best to let her anger take its course. His hand came to rest against the back of her neck, the tips of his fingers slipping through her hair. He could feel her soft skin and the heat of her blood below the surface, almost as though the fire that shone in her hair truly ran through her body. As he held her, he felt his own anger deep down at the way the King had spoken to her with so little regard for what she might feel.

In time her sobs quieted, and her breathing slowed but she remained pressed against him, wrapped in the secure circle of his arms, one hand fisted into the leather of his jerkin. Athos was content to stay there for as long as she needed. Holding her in his arms and feeling the warmth of her body almost gave him a rare sense of security, and he was sorry when she eventually drew a deep breath and disentangled herself from his arms before stepping away.

"Forgive me; I should not have lost my temper in such a manner." Furiously she scrubbed a hand over her face, banishing the last of her tears as she put her self-control back into place.

"You had every reason to be angry."

"Some would disagree, and some would say that I ought to be used to it by now. However, I think now it might be time for sleep; my aunt always said that everything looks better in the morning."

"Well we must hope she is right."

"If you could help me put the chairs back then I would be grateful. I think Anna might throw a fit if she found them like this in the morning."

"Quite right." It did not take him long to retrieve the chairs, find the bowl and pull the table back onto place. Before long, they made their way up the stairs, stopping when they reached the door to Eleanor’s room.

"Are you sure you're all right?" Athos frowned as he looked at her, her face was pale, traces of tears still in her eyes. For some reason he could not fathom, her fragility had lent something extra to her beauty.

"Don't worry, my intemperance has passed. Gascon tempers are like gunpowder; the slightest spark and they blow, but they burn hot and quick and are gone almost as soon as the fire starts." She smiled sadly.

"Well Aramis will be happy to add that to his list of things to compare d'Artagnan's temper to." He could not help but smile as she laughed softly. "Well I will bid you goodnight." He turned towards his room, pausing when she reached out, catching his arm with an unnerving accuracy.

"Thank you for..." She left the sentence unfinished, but he understood her meaning.

"I was glad to be of help." She smiled and he looked down as her hand drifted up his arm, guiding her as she took a small step towards him.

"I know," her voice was quiet, and Athos looked at her; feeling her hand travel lightly up his arm, her fingers making the faintest sound as they slipped over the leather of his jerkin.

He felt her trace across the fleur-de-lis on his shoulder and she was close enough that he could feel her breath ghosting across his throat. Eleanor’s expression was hesitant, almost fearful as she slipped her hand over his collar, her fingers light on the side of his neck, making him shiver. She paused for a moment and tilted her head up, pressing gently on the back of his neck. Athos did not know what made him allow her to pull him towards her and press her lips gently to his, but God forgive him, he did not want to resist her.

As he settled his hands on her waist, the scent of her filling his senses; he felt his control slipping and quickly broke the kiss. “Eleanor, I...”

“Don’t, please,” her voice was quiet, and he gazed at her. “Be mine tonight.”

Athos smiled, lowering his gaze briefly. “As I have said before; what kind of gentleman would I be if I were to refuse you such a request?” It was only now, as he held her here, her face tilted towards him that he realised just how much he wanted her and had done for some time.

Quickly Eleanor closed the gap, her hand moving up to his cheek. She pressed her lips to his and he gripped her waist firmly, feeling her ribs through her corset. He felt her fingers twine in his hair and allowed her to pull him closer, pressing her body against his as though she could not be close enough. Athos pushed against her, moving her backwards and heard the soft thud as her back hit the door. Quickly she reached back and fumbled with the latch before drawing him with her into the room.

Athos felt her fingers moving over the buttons on his jerkin and inhaled the lavender scent of her hair as she pushed the leather from his shoulders. He drew in a sharp breath as Eleanor’s lips found his neck and she planted soft kisses up towards his jaw, the air hissing through his teeth as she pressed a kiss against his pulse. Heat pooled within him as he felt the desire he had been keeping firmly at bay trying to overcome him. Could he let go, allow himself to give in to it? Her teeth grazed his neck, sending a jolt down his spine. His doubts dropped to the floor with his jerkin.

He grasped her shoulders and turned her away from him, Eleanor gasped as he dropped a kiss on the back of her neck and his fingers made short work of the ribbons on her dress. Athos released the garment and dropped it to the floor, leaving her shoulders bare as her chemise slipped low. His breath caught in his chest as her creamy skin was revealed, more perfect than he could ever have imagined. Eleanor gasped and shifted in his arms moving to turn back to him, but he held her there, one arm across her chest and the other across her stomach, her heart beating fast against his spread fingers.

Pressing his body against hers, he touched his lips to her hair in a feather light kiss, inhaling the scent of lavender from her. Beneath the lavender he caught the scent of her skin, and his desire for her increased even further. He heard her quick breaths as he lowered his head, his next kiss falling on her cheek where the normal rose blush had increased with desire. Gently he placed kisses lower along her jaw and neck, nudging her head aside to expose more of her throat to his mouth, her breath faltering with each touch of his skin on hers. When he reached the base of her throat, he lowered his head still further, turning his attentions to her collar bone and the hollow above it. He let his teeth graze the sensitive skin above the bone and felt her back arch and the muscles in her stomach coil as her breath hitched in her chest. She made a low, tortured sound and shifted in his arms, slippery as an eel as she spun to face him. She sought his mouth with her own once more as her hands quested over his back, seeking the hem of his shirt.

He felt her breath on his skin as she dragged his shirt over his head and he vaguely heard it drop to the floor before she was on him again, exploring his body with her hands and mouth. Athos made an involuntary sound in his throat, low and primal as she dropped exploratory kisses across his chest and stomach, and she felt his muscles tense. His hands were swift and sure as he pushed her chemise down to her waist, her skin like silk under his calloused palms. Eleanor’s mouth found his once more, kissing him deeply, hungrily, pulling him in so there was nothing but her.

Athos struggled with the overload on his senses as her lips and hands roamed over his body, ruthlessly hunting down every sensitive spot and making his nerves sing. He could not remember the last time he had allowed himself to feel like this. He ran his hands over her bare back, pressing his fingers into the small hollow at the base of her spine and pulled her to him, feeling her body sag against him as she shivered at his touch, the ends of her hair tickling his wrist. Kissing her deeply once more he pulled her even closer and guided her towards the bed.

He made love to her slowly, unwilling to let it be over too soon and eager to savour every touch and kiss. She was passionate and strong, her soft body wrapping around him as though she would never let him go. As he lay with her, their breaths coming together in a ragged harmony, the touch and scent of her overwhelmed him and he lost himself, momentarily forgetting everything but her.

As the night grew darker, the moon making its way across the sky, they lay entwined, their limbs heavy and their bodies sated as the sweat dried on their skin. With his arms wrapped around her and the heat of her body running through him, Athos slept untroubled for the first time in a long time.


	14. Chapter 14

When Athos awoke, the sky had barely begun to lighten. Eleanor lay facing away from him, her back tucked neatly against his chest and his arm resting across the gentle curve of her waist. She still slept soundly, her fiery hair spilling across the bolster and her shoulder left bare where the covers had slipped. Carefully, the musketeer disentangled himself from the warmth of her body and slipped from the bed, careful not to wake her. Quietly he retrieved his clothes from the floor and pulled them on, his gaze shifting to the door as he heard a soft sound from downstairs. With one last glance at the still sleeping Eleanor, he picked up his jerkin and opened the door, stopping dead in his tracks when he came face to face with Anna.

The housekeeper looked him up and down before glancing behind him to where her charge lay; her expression telling him that she had indeed taken note of the rumpled covers and clothes on the floor.

“Well then, I am shocked.” She turned her gaze on Athos, and the musketeer could swear that she looked pleased.

“Madame...I...” Once again, the woman had Athos stumbling over his words, terror at the thought that she might report back to Treville overcoming him.

“I would have thought better of you, monsieur, sneaking out and leaving the lady alone.” The woman glared at him and Athos almost sighed with relief. “Get yourself back in there and conduct yourself in a proper manner; you still have time before your young friend arrives.” She raised an eyebrow, seeming satisfied when Athos arranged his features into a suitably contrite expression and inclined his head.

“If d’Artagnan should arrive early...”

“Then I will distract the boy with breakfast and tell him that you have not yet risen from much needed rest.” Her eyes crinkled as she smiled. “Now get back in that room before she wakes and finds you gone.” She reached out, pushing her hand gently against his shoulder to urge him back into the room and he obeyed, stepping back as Anna reached for the door handle, pulling the door closed with a soft click.

Athos turned his back to the door, as his gaze once more settled on Eleanor he was surprised to see her mouth turned up in a smile.

“How long have you been awake?”

“Long enough.” She opened her eyes and shifted, one alabaster leg emerging from under the covers. “She’s right you know; it is rude to sneak out of a lady’s room.” She shifted again, stretching like a cat, and propping herself up on one elbow, amusement on her features.

The first light from the rising sun came through the window, the soft, golden rays illuminating Eleanor from behind, turning her hair to a fiery halo. She seemed to glow, whether from the sunlight or something else, Athos was not sure, but her beauty made his breath catch.

“So I have been informed.” Athos carefully draped his doublet over a chair and made his way towards the bed, watching her head tilt as she listened to his approach. “I must beg your forgiveness,” his tone was formal, but Eleanor could hear the smile in his voice.

“I might forgive you.” Her smile was impish as he sat on the bed beside her and she curled her body around him. “You’ll just have to make amends.” Athos did not need her to say how; her smile told him all he needed to know, and he leant down, placing his fingers under her chin, and tilting her face towards his.

“Then that is what I shall do.”

Eleanor gasped as he quickly closed the gap, pressing his lips to hers in a deep kiss as his other hand came up to caress her bare shoulder.

After all, he reasoned, they did still have time before d’Artagnan arrived.

Several days later, Treville saw Aramis as the Spaniard headed to his rooms for fresh clothes after spending the night guarding Eleanor.

“How is she?” Treville did not want to show it, but what d’Artagnan had told him had worried him. He wanted Eleanor to be safe, but he did not want her caged.

“She seems much happier now, Captain; remarkably so in fact.” Aramis seemed relieved as he unbuttoned his jerkin.

“Really? I would have thought she would grow more fractious by the day.”

“Apparently not; she seemed quite content last night.”

“Well I’m surprised to hear it but well done. Whatever you’re doing, keep at it.”

“Yes Sir.” Treville watched the musketeer go and shook his head in mild amazement; his daughter had never liked being confined and he marvelled at the ability of his four Inseparables to keep her happy.

That evening, Athos made his way to the house, mentally gathering himself. He had been on guard duty at the house for many of the nights over the last days, and Eleanor had invited him to her bed each time. He had gone willingly, losing himself in her and relishing the nights of peaceful sleep she gave him. But over the last days, his thoughts had crowded in on him. Athos did not want to do what he was about to, but his mind had been turning circles all day and he had eventually concluded that it was the right thing.

_What is right is not always easy._

Anna let him in, her shrewd gaze sweeping over him and a small frown appearing on her face when she saw him. Porthos and Eleanor were sat in the study, she at the spinning wheel and he in a nearby chair. Athos watched for a moment from the doorway, his gaze following the movement of her hands as she drew the wool fibres towards the bobbin, her foot moving the wheel steadily. They both turned as Athos stepped into the room, Eleanor’s hands not stopping their steady movements.

Porthos stood, his gaze sweeping over his brother as he realised that all was not quite well. Although Athos could school his expression to perfect neutrality, there was still something in the set of his body that left an alarm ringing in the back of Porthos’ mind.

“You all right?” The big musketeer’s voice was low.

“Fine, tired but nothing worse.” Athos noted the frown that appeared, stating that Porthos did not believe him but would not push the point.

“Right, I’d best head off then.” He turned to face Eleanor. “I’ll see you the day after tomorrow, Eleanor.”

“Goodnight, Porthos.” Eleanor smiled; her hands steady as she joined a new piece of wool onto the end of the last one. With one last look at Athos, Porthos left the room, pushing his hat onto his head. Eleanor tilted her head, listening as he moved down the hallway. It was not until she heard the front door of the house close that she spoke, her voice soft. “What is it?” Athos started, looking up at her and once more cursing how perceptive she was. He took a deep breath as her hand reached out to stop the wheel and she sat quietly, waiting for him to speak.

“What has happened between us...it should never have happened.”

“And it should not happen again, is that it?” Although her voice was calm, Athos could see by her deep, measured breaths that she was fighting to keep her composure.

“It must not.” Her breath shuddered and he longed to touch her, to draw her into his arms and comfort her, but he stopped himself, his fists clenching.

“By should never have happened, do you mean that you wish it never had?”

“No of course not,” he paused, drawing a deep breath. “But you are the Captain’s daughter.”

“Is that all that defines me to you?”

“No, but he has trusted me to protect you.” He flinched as she took a step towards him, using his voice as a guide.

“Then protect me as my lover. Please, Athos don’t end this out of some sense of honour to him,” her voice was pleading, and he could hear unshed tears in her words.

“I cannot; this must end.” He heard her breath catch in her chest and she placed a hand on her stomach as though to hold herself together. “I’m sorry.”

At these words, her tears spilled over, falling like drops of crystal down her cheeks and Athos clenched his hand to stop the urge to brush her tears away. After a moment, she nodded, drawing herself up to her full height and pulling in a deep, shuddering breath.

“If that is what you wish, then forgive me, monsieur for taking so much of your time. I will not trouble you further.” Her tone was painfully formal, and he tried not to flinch as she turned without another word and made her way from the room, her hand groping for the wall and her footsteps unsteady.

He heard her make her way up the stairs and a few moments later the sound of a door closing heavily. Once he heard the door close, Athos slumped back against the desk, allowing his carefully schooled neutrality to fall away. This had hurt him more than he dared to let Eleanor know, but it was not his own pain that concerned him, that was a constant companion; her pain, however, was almost more than he could bear. Suddenly, he felt the need for numbness that only wine could provide, and made his way to the dining room.

As he reached for the wine bottle, Anna appeared in the doorway, her hands on her hips and a thunderous expression on her face. “What have you done?” her voice was low and dangerous.

“Madame-”

“She has bolted the door to her room, and I can hear the tears in her voice. At the moment there is only one person with the power to cause her that much pain so what have you done?”

“I told her this must end.” With the appearance of the housekeeper, Athos had forced his carefully schooled expression to reappear, but he could hear the layer of pain in his own voice and he was certain that Anna could too.

“For what possible reason?” She had stepped into the room with the air of an advancing hurricane, and Athos thought that at this moment he would prefer to face the entire Spanish army on his own than this woman.

“The Captain has entrusted me with her safety; if this...between us continues then she will be in danger...to be with me is dangerous.” Athos could not find the words to tell her that people who loved him, who he loved, often died.

He sat down heavily, gripping the edge of the table and staring hard at the floor as he tried to regain his composure. He heard footsteps and saw the hem of Anna’s dress swing into view, a moment later she placed her fingers under his chin, tilting his face towards her. When she spoke, her voice was softer.

“She loves a soldier and that is always dangerous, but as the Captain’s daughter it is a danger she is familiar with.”

“But-”

“I wasn’t finished,” her firm tone silenced him. “Her father has entrusted you and your friends to protect her body, but she has entrusted you alone to protect her heart. So, take it, protect it, let her love you and love her back in whatever way you can instead of causing yourself all this pain.” She stepped back and gazed down him, nodding in approval when he nodded and stood. “Good, now get up to that room and apologise.” Athos nodded and turned for the door, pausing before he left the room.

“My thanks, Madame, for your advice.”

“You’re welcome, but I have one more piece of advice for you.” She waited until he had turned fully to look at her before continuing. “If you hurt that girl again then her father will be the least of your worries.” She raised an eyebrow at him, and Athos could well believe that she would make his life hell if he hurt Eleanor again.

“I shall bear that in mind, Madame.” He inclined his head graciously and left the room, preparing himself for his next battle.

He paused at the foot of the stairs, looking up at the door of Eleanor’s room. His feet felt like lead and he sighed before making his way heavily up the steps. He paused outside the door, staring at the dark wood and trying to find the right words to say to the girl on the other side. He could hear his own breathing and the blood pounding in his ears as his heart crashed against his ribs. If he concentrated, beneath that, he could hear Eleanor through the door, her breaths shuddering softly as she cried. Mentally cursing himself for being a coward he raised his hand and knocked on the door. There was no answer.

“Eleanor?” He heard her breath catch as he spoke, and, when there was a long silence, thought that she would ignore him.

“Leave me alone, Athos.” He flinched; there was no strength or anger in her voice, only a deep sadness.

“Please let me in, I must talk to you.” He could hear a note of desperation in his own voice.

There was another long silence and eventually he heard movement, after what seemed like an eternity, the sound of the bolt being slid aside came through the door. After pausing to gather himself once more, Athos reached for the latch and pushed open the door, stepping hesitantly into the room.

Eleanor had moved away from the door and now stood in the shadows on the other side of the room. There was just enough light from the moon outside for him to make out her pale face and the glisten of tears that ran down her cheeks. As Athos looked at her, he felt pain in his chest; she looked utterly dejected, worse even than when the King had upset her. The thought that he had caused her worse pain than the thoughtless monarch was almost too much to bear.

“Say what you have to say, Athos. Is it not enough that you’ve upset me? That now you must come and see what you’ve done?” her voice was hard, and Athos flinched as she lashed at him with her words.

“I...” He began to speak but Eleanor shook her head, dragging in a deep breath.

“I’m sorry, that was cruel.” She looked ashamed and more tears coursed down her cheeks, dripping onto the top of her chemise where it showed above her dress.

“You have every right to be.” Athos stepped forwards, stopping when she flinched away, her arms wrapping around herself. Seeing her avoid his touch sent a twist of guilt and hurt through him, but his pain was not important. “Anna spoke to me; she helped me see the error of my ways.” He stepped forwards again, until he stood just in front of her and dropped to his knees, his head bowed; he could think of no other way to show how contrite he was, even if she could not see him. “I must beg your forgiveness, my lady. If you still wish what you asked downstairs, then I will honour your wish; but if you will no longer have me then I understand, and I will not ask again.”

There was a long silence, but Athos dared not move, he remained with his head bowed, more deferential to her than he had ever been to the King. He saw the fabric of her dress shift as she moved and held his breath as he saw her hand lift from her side, questing forward as she searched. After a moment, her fingers brushed his hair and he heard her breath catch as she realised that he knelt before her. She ran her hand across his hair, resting her palm flat across the back of his head.

“I wish it, oh God I wish it.” He could hear hope now, intermingled with the tears in her voice and let his breath out, relief flooding through him as he looked up at her to see relief on her pale face. He stood, pulling her into his arms and she came willingly, resting her head against his chest as he held her tightly.

“Forgive me; I thought it for the best.” Even as he said those words, Athos realised he had been a fool. He did not want to let her go and to hurt her had been unthinkable.

“I forgive you; you only wanted to do your duty.”

She raised her face to his and he kissed her, tasting the salt from her tears and resting one hand on her cheek. Gently, she disentangled herself from his arms and grasped his hand from where it still rested on her cheek. As she turned, leading him towards the bed, Athos realised that he was now as beholden to Eleanor as he had ever been to her father.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extra warning  
> This chapter contains mentions of past domestic abuse.   
> Also, due to lack of canon evidence, I've gone with a more historical accuracy approach for what Treville does. Thinking more along the lines of 1630's and what was generally considered acceptable.

Rochefort pulled the hood of his cloak further over his face as he entered the small tavern. He stepped inside, wrinkling his nose at the smell of unwashed bodies and stale beer that hung in the air amidst the smoke from small, grimy lanterns. Quickly he wove his way through the crowd to the small table in the corner, and sat down on the rickety stool. This really was the lowest and most disgusting of places.

"Well? Have you got any further with your plans yet?" Rochefort snapped.

The figure opposite him regarded him from beneath a dark woollen cloak with bright blue eyes that held no warmth, and Rochefort had the distinct impression that this man would think nothing of stabbing him. Indeed, he had the feeling that this man was one of the most dangerous he had ever met; he was small and slim, yet hard and strong. He also did not appear to be troubled by a conscience.

"She is guarded and walks on crowded streets; it makes abduction difficult," his voice was soft and calm, giving the impression that he could be trusted. But Rochefort would make no such mistake.

"Not if you choose the right time and place, really I don't know how you managed to get near her the first time with your level of incompetence."

"Have a care, my lord, or I may give you a display of my…incompetence." The blue eyes flashed, and Rochefort sighed. He was well aware how dangerous this man was, but he would not be intimidated.

"How about we try a display of competence? Just for a change. There is a small alley just off the Rue Jacob that she walks past between the garrison and her Father's house. Drive her into that, it will be perfect. Do not fail, for if my master punishes me for your mistakes again then I will come after you.”

“Your master seems very keen on her death.”

“He has his reasons, as does yours. Now, are we agreed that something will be done?”

Rochefort watched as the man sat back in his seat with an air of lazy confidence, the bright gaze unwavering.

“I will advise my master on what you have told me, and will act on his decision.”

“Well make sure you advise him well.” Rochefort stood, pulling his cloak about him, and turned away from the man, picking his way carefully through the crowd and back out onto the dark streets.

When Athos awoke, he couldn’t move his arm. It took him a moment to realise that it was trapped beneath Eleanor where she lay curled against him, her head resting in the hollow of his shoulder and her arm thrown across his chest. Looking down he could see that she still slept, her long lashes fanning out across pale cheeks and her lips slightly parted. The early morning sunlight had crept into the room and had fallen across the bed, illuminating her pale skin so that it looked almost translucent. If he looked closely, he fancied he could almost see her blood dancing through the faint veins that traced beneath the surface.

Eleanor moved closer to him in her sleep, causing the covers to slip to her waist. Athos raised his free hand, tracing his fingers over her newly exposed skin. As he traced down over her ribs, he felt something he had not noticed before; a raised line on her skin. For a moment, he traced it back and forth, frowning as the idea of what it might be occurred to him. Very slowly, so as not to wake her, Athos raised his head, looking down at where his fingers still rested on her ribs. In the early morning light, he caught sight of a mark beneath his fingers; a silvery scar that traced across her ribs, and as he looked, Athos could see that it was not the only one. He frowned, wondering what on earth could have happened to her to cause these, and felt a swell of rage at the thought that someone might have harmed her.

He gently brushed a stray lock of hair from her cheek; Anna had been right, she truly was beautiful and he cursed himself once again for what he had done the previous evening. Eleanor shifted at his touch, burrowing her head further into his shoulder and he smiled, dropping his head back against the bolster, content for the moment to rest with her in his arms.

When he made his way downstairs, leaving Eleanor to get dressed, Athos was surprised to see that d’Artagnan had not yet arrived. Anna caught his questioning glance as she laid freshly baked bread on the table.

“A message came from Captain Treville this morning; your young friend was delayed on an errand. He asks if you will take Eleanor to the garrison to meet your friend there, that way he can see her too and she can say hello to her horse.”

“If that is what the Captain has asked then that is what we shall do.”

“Captain Treville says there is no hurry, it sounds rather like he will be busy for most of the morning.” She gave a knowing smile as she wiped her hands on her apron and returned to the kitchen.

It was past noon when they made their way to the garrison, Eleanor’s hand resting lightly on his arm. Her bright hair was concealed by a new cloak of dark green wool which Anna had decided would suit her; looking down and catching sight of the delicate embroidery in silvery grey that traced the hem, Athos could not disagree with the housekeeper.

The air had turned cold as autumn took the city firmly in its grasp, moving steadily towards winter. Although it was still only the middle of the day, the sky was dull, and as he looked up at the rolling grey clouds, Athos was sure that there would be rain later. As they entered the garrison gate, Athos saw Aramis and Porthos sat at the table, he nodded in greeting to them and guided Eleanor across the yard towards them.

“Good afternoon, Eleanor.” Aramis’ voice was warm with greeting and he smiled as Eleanor pulled her hood back to reveal cheeks flushed with the cold.

“Good afternoon, Aramis.”

The musketeer was rewarded with a bright smile and offered Eleanor a cup of warmed ale from the jug that Serge had just brought to the table, carefully placing it in the girls’ hand. She sipped it appreciatively, and they looked at her as her head turned sharply towards the archway. A moment later, d’Artagnan entered the garrison and made his way towards them.

“Where’ve you been?” Porthos looked at their youngest brother as he gulped down the ale that Aramis handed him.

“Captain needed a message taking and I was the one he saw first.” The boy put the now empty cup on the table and turned to Eleanor. “I’m sorry, Eleanor that I wasn’t there this morning, I’ve just got to take the reply to the Captain and then I’m at your disposal.”

“That’s quite alright, take all the time you need.” She gave another smile and turned again as a horse’s whinny echoed across the yard. “Oh dear, she’s calling.” They turned towards the stables and saw that the girl was indeed right; Eleanor’s chestnut mare had spotted her mistress and now, as they watched, she raised her head once more and whinnied again, tossing her long mane and kicking at the door of her stall. “Alright, alright, I’m coming. Athos, would you be so kind?” She reached to the cloak clasp at her neck and unfastened it, slipping the dark fabric from her shoulders.

“Of course.” Athos reached out taking the cloak from her and placing it on the bench.

He swiped an apple from the table before placing a gentle hand on Eleanor’s elbow, and with a nod to his friends, led her across the yard to the stables. Aramis and Porthos watched as their friend guided Eleanor, his hand gentle on her arm and attentive to every word she spoke as they walked away.

“Well she’s got him well trained, hasn’t she?” Porthos chuckled quietly.

“Porthos, my friend, I believe she has us all well trained.” Aramis absentmindedly picked up the cloak and folded it as he watched Eleanor greet her horse, feeding her the apple that Athos had taken. The animal nudged at her and Eleanor laughed merrily. He looked down; admiring the delicate embroidery along the hem and turned as d’Artagnan came back down the steps flopping down onto the bench opposite him. “Well?” Aramis looked at the boy who was tearing a chunk from a loaf of bread.

“Captain’s looking at the reply then he’ll be down to see Eleanor.” The boy looked up as both of his friends sat up sharply in their seats. “What?”

“Did Athos...?” Aramis’ was wide eyed, his mouth open in disbelief.

“He just laughed,” Porthos’ voice was quiet with incredulity.

“And?” d’Artagnan looked from one to the other; unsure of what was going on.

“Porthos and I have known him for just over five years and in that time, I’ve never heard him laugh.” Aramis’ gaze flicked back to their friend in the stables.

“What? Never?” d’Artagnan was incredulous, he was sure Athos must have laughed at some point.

“Not once.” Porthos shook his head.

“Think about it, in the time you’ve been in Paris have you ever heard him laugh?” Aramis watched as the boy thought.

“No, I suppose not.”

“He smiles but he never laughs,” Porthos murmured.

All three men looked up as a board creaked on the balcony above and all three drew in a breath as they saw Treville standing on the balcony, the railing creaking under his clenched hands and his gaze fixed on Athos and Eleanor.

“I don’t think we’re the only ones who heard,” Aramis whispered under his breath, falling silent as Treville’s gaze fell on them.

"Porthos." The Captain's voice was a terse growl. "Bring Eleanor to my office." The big musketeer rose from the bench without a word and made his way towards the stables, hearing the door to Treville's office slam as he did so.

Athos looked up sharply as he heard Treville’s voice and felt Eleanor freeze beside him.

“He knows,” her voice was a hoarse whisper and all the colour had drained from her face.

“You’re sure?” He felt his stomach drop.

“Yes; can you not hear the anger in his voice?”

“What are you going to do?”

“Face him; he deserves that much at least.” She reached out, groping for his hand, and squeezed it briefly as Porthos made his way slowly towards them.

"Madame, the Captain wants to see you." His worry must have sounded in his voice, for if possible, Athos saw Eleanor pale a shade further. After a moment, she nodded and squared her shoulders, taking a deep breath as she held her hand out towards Porthos.

"Very well." Porthos, took her hand gently led her across the courtyard, glancing back at Athos as he did; the worry in his friend's eyes doing nothing to settle his own fears. At the bottom of the stairs she stopped. "Just to the door, Porthos."

"Are you sure?" Although he could offer little or no support to her, Porthos was surprised that she wanted to face the Captain alone.

"I think at this moment he is angrier than I have ever known him, I will not put you in the line of fire that I have caused."

"You're braver than I am, Madame."

They continued up the stairs, her hand gripping his tighter with every step, taking comfort in his solid presence. They came to a stop outside Treville’s office and Porthos placed her hand on the door, watching as she took a deep breath, raised her head slightly and entered the room.

Eleanor carefully closed the door behind her and stepped further into the room, reaching for the rough wood of the wall to guide her. She could hear her father pacing, his fury radiating from him in waves.

"Well?" He barked out the word.

"Well what?" She knew she should not provoke him, but his sharp question and clear anger made her own temper flare.

"Have you taken Athos as your lover?"

He paced closer to her, stopping just in front of her so that she felt the air move and Eleanor knew there was no point in trying to conceal the truth.

"Yes," her voice was quiet but steady and she was unprepared when he gripped her by the shoulders and pushed her against the wall, holding her there. When he spoke, his voice was a furious growl.

"You just be thankful that I am not a violent man, girl; there are fathers who have killed their daughters for less,” his voice sounded as though he might still be contemplating such action and Eleanor froze, saying nothing. “I set my most trusted soldier to guard you and you take him to your bed. For all I thought you were I never imagined you would act like a whore." His voice had risen, and he shook her as he spoke, his face inches from hers as he shouted, and she was sure that the musketeers in the yard below must be able to hear. "What were you thinking, allowing yourself to be seduced?"

He shook her again and she pushed him away from her, if he did not care if his soldiers heard him shout, then fine, neither did she.

"He didn't seduce me, Father-"

"You seduced him then?" He spun on his heel and she heard him pacing the room, his tread heavy on the wooden floor.

"No one seduced anyone; it's called a mutual attraction."

Although her anger had risen and now matched his, Eleanor was shaking, she had known him angry before but he had never laid a hand on her like this, she could feel points of pain where his fingers had gripped her and was sure that bruises must even now be forming.

Down in the yard, Aramis glanced over at where Athos paced the stables before turning back to Porthos and d’Artagnan. “What do you reckon the Captain will do to him?”

“Flay him alive probably,” d’Artagnan murmured quietly so as not to let Athos hear.

“Men have demanded worse for their daughter’s lovers.”

“You’d know.” Porthos could not suppress a quiet snigger. They looked up as Treville’s voice sounded loudly from his office.

“He doesn’t sound happy.” Aramis grimaced.

“Have you ever heard him shout like that?” d’Artagnan was certain he had never heard Treville quite this angry.

“Once, and I’ve no desire to do so again in a hurry.” They looked up again, their eyes wide as Eleanor’s voice sounded from the office.

“Is she...?” d’Artagnan’s voice was filled with disbelief.

“She’s shouting back at him.” Aramis could not disguise his admiration for the girl’s courage.

“Well that settles it; he definitely passed on his temper.” Porthos could not hold back a slight chuckle.

Treville glared at Eleanor as he paced back and forth; she did not seem repentant for her actions. "I put him with you to keep you safe, not to amuse you. I will not have my daughter acting like a whore." He bellowed the last word and she stepped towards him, her hair flying about her in waves of fire.

"He is kind to me, Father, unlike the last man you chose for me who took to beating me because I could not see the blows coming." Eleanor stopped, her hand flying to her mouth as she realised what she had said. Her breath caught in shock at herself, for that was one secret she had always meant to spare him.

The anger dissipated from the room instantly, replaced by shocked, appalled silence. Although Eleanor could not see his look of horror, she could feel it, and closed her eyes in sadness as he slumped into his chair, the heavy impact reverberating through the floor.

"I... I never knew...you never told me..."

"You never needed to know; I was his by law; there was nothing to be done," her voice was choked in sadness and she fought back her tears.

She made her way across the room, feeling around the desk to the chair and kneeling in front of him. Finding his hands, she clasped them in her own. Treville saw the grief on her face, and realised that she had never told him in an effort to spare him the current pain he felt. A tear rolled slowly down her cheek, glistening like a diamond. He struggled to find his voice, not wanting to ask the question in his mind but knowing that he needed to.

“Tell me what happened...what did he do to you?”

He felt her grip tighten on his hand and gripped her fingers where they entwined with his. In his shock, he noted how delicate her hands were. When she spoke, her voice shook.

“He used me for sport...he would hit me, then tell me to run; then he would hunt me through the house or grounds and beat me when he caught me.” Tears coursed down her cheeks and Treville shook his head, unable to comprehend such wanton cruelty.

“Did no one try to help you?”

“Everyone feared him; he would hit the servants, the horses, the dogs...anyone who got in his way. One boy...one boy tried; he tried to stop Luc from hitting me once.” Eleanor choked back a sob. “Luc turned on him, he started to hit the boy...I heard his cries as his bones cracked under Luc’s boots and fists. Eventually the boy stopped crying out and Luc summoned other servants to take him away, warning that the same would happen to anyone else who tried to help me. Then he turned on me and smeared the boy’s blood on my face before beating me worse than he ever had before. As he did, he told me that if I asked for help then I would be cast out and abandoned for not being a good wife.”

“Surely you didn’t believe him?”

“He told me that every day...and eventually I started to believe it.” She broke into sobs. “I can still hear that boy crying out as he was killed for trying to help me and I could never risk it happening again, that was why I never told you.”

“But why not until now? You could have told me after he died.”

“To let you know that what you thought was a happy marriage was miserable; and to cause you this pain you feel now? I didn’t want to.”

For one of the first times in his life, Treville was grateful that she could not see him. He was sure the expression on his face must be awful. Her words had taken the wind out of his anger, each new revelation like a blow to the gut.

“That was all I ever wanted for you, some happiness after your mother died.” Treville felt his voice shake.

He had promised Isabelle that he would look after their only child, that he would keep her happy and safe. He had failed in his promise. He cursed himself for allowing her to be subjected to four years of torment that had mercifully ended with death. What would have happened if not for the flying hooves of a horse?

"Then please, Father, let me have this. Athos makes me happy, please don't forbid it." She bowed her head, tears falling freely down her cheeks as she put herself at his mercy.

Treville looked down at her; he felt crushed and exhausted by what she had told him. In all his worst nightmares he had never thought that her marriage could have been so terrible. She had been cruelly handled and yet was still here. Then he, who was supposed to love and protect her had lain hands on her and called her a whore for pursuing her own happiness. Guilt rose within him, twisting and cold. He sighed, gathering himself and attempting to clear the lump in his throat.

“Well I suppose worse choices have been made for you. Alright, let’s see what he has to say for himself.” He rose, gently untangling his fingers from hers. Eleanor remained knelt on the floor, as though she feared what he might do if she rose.

Quickly Treville moved across the room and pulled the door open; his gaze sweeping across the silent garrison yard. “Athos.” He heard the echo of his voice bouncing back at him from the walls.

Treville did not wait to see if his soldier followed him; he knew his order would be obeyed without question. He moved to stand near the desk, his gaze flickering down towards Eleanor where she still had not moved. After a few moments he heard slow, measured footsteps as Athos stepped into the room.

Athos stood silent and still, his hat clasped to his chest as he waited for Treville to speak. It took all his self-control not to look at Eleanor where she knelt on the floor, tears falling down her cheeks like rain running down marble. Treville stalked towards him like an angry lion and Athos fixed his gaze on a point on the wall, careful not to move lest he trigger an explosion of anger. Although the Captain was no longer a young man, he was still strong, his muscles lean and hard and Athos realised that Treville could easily kill him if he so chose to.

“Of all of you, I never expected it to be you that fell for her.” Athos glanced at Treville in surprise; the Captain’s voice was quiet with no trace of the anger he had expected. Something monumental had clearly passed between father and daughter. “What, no excuses?”

“No, Sir.”

“You care for her?” Treville heard Athos’ breath catch as the question caught him by surprise.

“I... Yes, Sir.”

“By all rights I should put an end to this, cast you from the regiment and put her in a convent.” Treville did not miss the flicker of Athos’ gaze that darted between himself and Eleanor; nor did he miss the sharp intake of breath from where his daughter still knelt on the floor. “However, luckily for you, she fights for what she wants, and it seems she wants you. She’s a headstrong creature, just like her mother and she has asked me not to forbid this. I have done wrong by her too many times to deny her this time.” Treville stepped in close enough that Athos could hear his next, barely whispered words. “But remember one thing; if you hurt her, I will kill you with my bare hands.”

“Understood, Sir.”

“Good, now wait outside; I need a moment with Eleanor.” Athos inclined his head in gratitude and turned, quickly making his way to the door. Treville waited until he heard the door close softly before making his way over towards Eleanor. He stood in front of her and reached down, grasping her arms and pulling her gently to her feet. Carefully he placed a hand on her cheek and brushed a tear away with his thumb. She lent her head into his hand and he gazed at her, raising his other hand to settle on her other cheek. “You’re sure this is what you want?”

“Yes, Father.”

“With Athos? Really?” She smiled; a small breath escaping that might have been a laugh.

“Would you rather it were Aramis?”

“I suppose not.” He had to admit she was right; for all that he liked the sharpshooter, he was not a suitable companion for his daughter.

“From what I hear, most of your musketeers are trying to bed most of Paris; be thankful I picked the one that isn’t.”

“Alright.” He drew a deep breath, still holding her head in his hands. “You need to tell him.”

“Father-”

“No, listen; this is darkest part of your past, if you tell him what that brute of a husband did to you then he knows everything, and your slate is clean. Take him home and tell him everything.” He watched as she considered his words before finally nodding.

“Yes, Father.” He pulled her to him, wrapping his arms around her. She tilted her head, finding his cheek and placing a gentle kiss against it. “Thank you, Papa.”

“To refuse you this after what you told me would make me a monster.” He sighed. “Alright, let’s get you home.” He took her hand and led her to the door, not surprised when he opened it, to see Athos pacing the walkway. “Athos.” The musketeer stopped immediately and turned to face them. Treville fancied he could almost hear the bated breath of the other inseparables on the bench below.

“Sir?”

“Eleanor has something to tell you; take her home, Aramis will relieve you as usual tonight.”

“Yes, Captain.” Athos reached out, taking Eleanor’s hand from Treville’s, and leading her down the stairs, hearing the door close behind them as the Captain disappeared back into his office. The others rose from the bench as Athos led Eleanor down the last step.

“How in God’s name did you manage to come out of that alive?” Aramis could not help but smile.

“My Father isn’t impossible to reason with.” Eleanor smiled, the last vestiges of her tears vanishing.

“You mean you have him wrapped around your finger?” d’Artagnan moved forwards, eyeing the girl suspiciously.

“Not necessarily; but daughters can reason with their Fathers.” She smiled and the young Gascon shook his head.

“That settles it; if I ever have children, I don’t want daughters.”

“I’ve met many men who wish that they could not or did not have daughters and to this day I’ve never yet met one that had the choice.” Eleanor’s smile grew broader and her head tilted as the door to Treville’s office opened once more.

“Athos, get going, there’s a storm coming and if Eleanor catches cold it’ll be you that Anna comes after.” He watched as Athos nodded and murmured to Eleanor.

“My cloak...”

“Allow me, Madame.” Aramis reached back to the bench and picked up the new cloak, sweeping it around Eleanor’s shoulders and deftly fastening the clasp. Carefully he pulled the hood up to conceal her hair, gently tucking a few fiery locks that had escaped back into the folds of the cloak. “There, all ready.”

“My thanks, Aramis.” Eleanor rewarded him with a brilliant smile and bid them farewell as Athos took her hand and led her from the garrison.

As they walked through the streets, the sky began to darken, the oncoming storm turning the afternoon into an early night. Suddenly the air grew chill and Eleanor lifted her head; breathing deeply as she did so, and a smile formed on her face.

“What is it?” Athos glanced down at her as a sharp wind blew, pulling her hair from beneath her hood in fiery strands that whipped about her face.

“If I’m not much mistaken, the storm is here.” Her eyes were bright in anticipation, and as he glanced up at the sky, Athos had to admit that she was probably right. Dark clouds had rolled in across the sky and the wind was unrelenting as it whipped around them.

“We had best hurry then; I doubt the Captain will be impressed if I allow you to get soaked through, never mind what Anna will say.”

She nodded reluctantly and her grip on his arm tightened. Quickly he placed a hand over hers and led her through the darkening streets as the rain began to fall in great torrents, further reducing what little visibility there was and turning everything into vague, dark shapes.

They were not far from the house when Athos turned his head slightly as the slightest movement caught his eye. He shook his hair from his face, his hand reaching for his pistol.

“What is it?” Eleanor had felt him tense, his muscles like coiled springs under her hand.

“I’m not certain.”

His eyes darted back and forth, trying to see through the heavy rain. He could have sworn he could hear someone following them, but the rain beat a relentless patter on the streets, and he could not be absolutely sure. He clutched Eleanor’s arm and guided her onward; it was only a few more streets to go and even if it were nothing, he would feel safer once he had got her inside.

A great burst of thunder sounded, and lightning flashed, illuminating the streets for a moment. In the few seconds that their world was brightly lit, Athos saw a shape move in the narrow street ahead of them. He stopped, readying his pistol, and pulled Eleanor close, his arm wrapping firmly about her waist. She said nothing, sensing his worry. Athos glanced behind him and, seeing a clear street moved them back the way they had come, his eyes fixed on where he was certain he could see the glint of a weapon. Ordinarily a lone figure would not have worried him, he would even have welcomed the fight; but with Eleanor he would not take the risk. She stayed pressed against him as they moved; trusting him to guide her to safety.

Too late he heard the footsteps behind them and turned to see a group of men, all armed.

“Can I help you, gentlemen?” He stared steadily at them over his pistol.

“Your fair companion is Eleanor Ardoin I believe, formerly Eleanor Treville.” The man who spoke was not tall, but he gave an impression of power and danger, even with his red hair plastered to his head. His cold blue eyes flashed as another bolt of lightning tore across the sky.

“You are mistaken.” Athos’s voice was steady, but his stomach dropped when the man smiled.

“I thought you might try that. Thankfully, there aren’t too many blind women with red hair who are escorted by musketeers.” He waved a hand and Athos froze as he felt the cold muzzle of a pistol pressed against his neck. The man smiled and moved forwards, raising the pistol he carried and aiming it at Eleanor. “Just in case you thought to try something.” He raised his other hand, grasping the hood of the green cloak. Eleanor flinched away from his hand, pressing herself against Athos, and with a quick jerk, the man ripped her cloak away completely. His smile broadened as her hair tumbled free, the fiery red not yet darkened by the rain. “Not quite as mistaken as you thought. If you would come with us quietly it would be less inconvenient for me and less painful for you.”

“Thank you for the offer, but we will decline.” Athos tightened his hold on Eleanor and felt her twist her fingers into his jerkin as the men moved forwards.

There were six of them and Athos mentally tried to work out if he could kill them all. Again, he would not have thought twice about it if it were not for the girl he had his arm wrapped around. One of them raised his pistol and shook his head, almost as though he knew what the musketeer was thinking.

One of the men moved forwards and Eleanor shuddered as she felt the cold metal of his gun at her neck. Silently cursing in language that would make a sailor blush, Athos raised his free hand in surrender, and allowed the men to take his weapons and lead them back through the darkening streets.


	16. Chapter 16

Athos clutched Eleanor to him, keeping his arm wrapped firmly around her as the men led them through the rain-soaked streets, the downpour ensuring that nobody saw them. Eventually they came into what, if one was being polite, might be described as a less savoury part of Paris. Although the men kept their weapons trained on their two captives, they did not touch them. Athos decided that they must be under orders to take them, but not harm them. At least not yet.

Eventually, the men led them to what looked like a deserted house in a run-down part of the city. Eleanor kept her fingers twisted into Athos’ jerkin as the men took them through the rooms of the house. She stumbled slightly on the uneven and unfamiliar floorboards, and Athos wrapped his arm firmly around her waist, holding her upright. Finally, they were stopped at a door which was opened before the men pushed them through and pulled it closed behind them. Athos heard a bolt slide into place as he stumbled forwards, still holding onto Eleanor as they were left alone in the dim glow of a single lantern. He managed to stop just in time, narrowly preventing them both falling down the narrow wooden staircase that they now stood at the top of. Carefully he guided her down the rickety steps; each one feeling like it might give way at any moment. At last they reached the bottom of the stairs, stepping carefully onto a floor of packed dirt.

“Are you alright?” Athos held Eleanor at arms’ length, studying her carefully. Although he knew the men had not touched her except to remove her cloak; he still needed to reassure himself. He felt worry twist in him as he looked at her, he had seen their eyes on her, hungry gazes that promised violence. But he would not tell her, she did not need to know that just yet.

“I’m fine; what about you?” Eleanor’s voice pulled him from his thoughts, her fingers brushed over his arms and chest, searching for any injury.

“I’m alright.” He pulled her to him, relieved and she did not resist as he enfolded her in his arms. After a few moments, she spoke. “Where are we?”

“An old house, not too far from the Court of Miracles I believe.”

“Not ideal then.”

“You could say that.”

Carefully, Athos disentangled himself from her and moved away, looking around in the dim light. The cellar appeared to be much like the rest of the house; neglected and falling apart. There was dust everywhere and the air smelled musty. Quietly, he moved back up the stairs and inspected the door; it was solid and unyielding. He sighed; it was typical that the door would be the only thing still in one piece. He turned to see that Eleanor had also begun to explore, carefully running her fingers over the rough walls as she circled the room. He watched as she took a quick breath, her head shifting from side to side as though she was scenting the air and a small frown appearing on her face.

“There’s a breeze here.” She had paused at the far wall, her head tilted upwards.

As he came back down the stairs, Athos could see a small window level with the beams that ran above their heads. He glanced around and spotted an old crate. Eleanor tilted her head, listening as he pulled the crate across the room.

“What are you doing?”

“There’s a window up there, I’m going to have a look.”

Athos stood carefully on the crate and reached up. He just about managed to grasp the beam, and hauled himself up, careful not to crack his head on the ceiling. Grunting with effort, he pulled himself up level with the window and peered through. On closer inspection, it was not much more than a grate, crossed with iron bars that had about as much give in them as the door. Even if he had been able to pull them free, neither he nor Eleanor could have fitted through the tiny opening. He growled in frustration before dropping back to the floor.

“Anything?”

“Just rain and dark. Perhaps if we’re still here in the morning we can attract attention.”

“With any luck we won’t be, Aramis will be due to arrive at the house shortly, he’s sure to tell my Father once he realises we’re missing.”

“That is true, and if I know your Father, he’ll call out the entire regiment to find you.” Eleanor smiled at the idea and a thoughtful look crossed her face in the dim light.

“Do we have anything we could hang out of the window that someone might recognise?” Athos thought for a moment then lifted a hand to his neck.

“My scarf perhaps.” Quickly he unwrapped it and climbed back up to the grate, tying the scarf around the bars and pushing it out onto the street. He hoped that if his friends came this way then they would recognise it as his.

He dropped to the ground again and Eleanor turned her head towards him. “I imagine all we can do now is to wait.” To her credit, she did not sound worried or scared, merely bored. She reached out her hand and he went to her, wrapping his arms around her gently. She shivered against him and he frowned, lifting a hand and placing it on her cheek.

“My God, you’re frozen.”

Athos just managed to stop himself from cursing as he released her and began to undo his jerkin. He could see now that she had gone pale with cold; her hair hung in damp tendrils around her shoulders and her clothes were soaked. He pulled off his jerkin and wrapped it around her shoulders, the chill air seeping through his shirt as he pulled her into his arms once more. Silently he berated himself for forgetting that her cloak had been lost, and for not noticing sooner that she was cold. He was pulled from his thoughts as Eleanor rested her cheek on his chest, and gritted his teeth as her ice-cold skin touched his.

“Thank you,” her voice was quiet and muffled against his chest.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were cold?”

“We had more important things to consider,” her tone was unrepentant, and he sighed.

“Not likely; your father will flay me alive if he rescues us only to find I’ve let you die of cold.”

“I’m not going to die from the rain.”

“Your father was right; you are headstrong.” She laughed softly against his chest.

“He should know.”

Sighing once more, Athos led her to one of the walls, settling them down on the floor. After a few moments, Eleanor sat bolt upright, her breaths coming quickly.

“What is it?” Athos pressed a hand to her back and swept his gaze over her, trying to determine what was wrong. He could see nothing, although her heart fluttered like a caged bird beneath his hand.

“That’s it; it’s the same...” She cast her head around, scenting the air.

“Eleanor, what’s the matter?” After a few moments, she seemed to regain control of herself and her breathing slowed.

“Do you remember when Father asked me what I could remember from the market?”

“Yes.”

“There’s been a scent in the air here that I couldn’t place although I knew I’d smelt it before; it’s the same scent as the cloak that the man wore.” One of her hands grasped at his leg, her nails digging into him.

“Are you certain?”

“Yes, it’s the same people here, I’m sure of it.”

Athos felt her tremble and her breaths quickened once more. He could not blame her; after all she had realised that she was in the hands of people who had already tried to kill her once. He would have thought it odd if she had not been worried. Athos could not think of any words that could possibly be of any comfort to her, and instead wrapped an arm about her shoulders and pulled her against him, pressing a gentle kiss against her hair. She curled against him and after a while, the trembling stopped as she took what comfort she could from his presence.

Aramis made his way through the dark, wet streets; the rain had not eased, and the wind howled, threatening to send his hat flying across the Paris rooftops. As quickly as he could he made his way to Treville’s house, still marvelling at the fact that Athos was still alive after bedding Eleanor. He was also still reeling at the very occurrence of something between Athos and Eleanor. While he had had his suspicions that his friend was falling for the girl, he still could not quite believe that she had managed to thaw the heart that they had all believed frozen and untouchable.

 _Ah well, stranger things have happened I suppose._ His thoughts drifted, as they often did to his night with the Queen and he shrugged, thinking that perhaps whatever was between Athos and Eleanor was not so strange after all.

When he knocked on the door, Anna let him in. He was surprised to see her frown and look past him as though she did not expect him to be alone.

“You have not brought her back with you?” her tone was sharp with worry.

“Who?”

“Eleanor, where is she?”

“She’s not here?” Aramis paused in the undoing of his cloak and felt his heart pick up pace.

“I haven’t seen her since she left with your friend the monsieur Athos this afternoon.”

“Oh God, Madame, if they should return then send a messenger to the garrison.” Without another word the sharpshooter sprinted out into the night, leaving Anna standing in the doorway.

Aramis’ lungs burned as he ran back through the soaked streets, but he dared not slow down. He did not know why Athos and Eleanor were missing, but he would bet his life that it could not be anything good. He felt relief in his chest when he saw that a light still burned in the Captain’s office. Skidding on the cobbles, he ignored the shocked faces of Porthos and d’Artagnan as he ran past them at the garrison gate. He ran up the stairs, almost slipping on the wet wood, and heard his friends’ feet just behind him as he regained his footing and leapt the last two steps.

Treville looked up in annoyance as Aramis burst through the door without knocking. “What the...?” He stopped in his exclamation when he saw the look on the Spaniard’s face. “Aramis, what’s wrong?”

“They’re missing, Sir, Eleanor and Athos; they never made it back to the house.” Aramis gasped out his message and stood with his hands on his knees, heaving air into his lungs. Treville stood and caught sight of Porthos and d’Artagnan with shocked expressions on their faces as they stood in the doorway.

“d’Artagnan, rouse the regiment, anyone who’s still within the garrison, get them all.” The boy nodded and turned without a word, disappearing off into the rain.

“Would they have left the city?” Treville watched two of his inseparables process the question, their brows furrowing as they realised what he had just asked.

“What, eloped? I don’t think so, Captain; that would be the height of disloyalty and I cannot imagine it from either of them.” Aramis had straightened and his expression was incredulous.

“Thank you.” Treville nodded. “I just needed it confirmed.” He crossed the room and picked up his cloak. “That leaves the most likely possibility; that it’s something to do with the people who attacked Eleanor.” He swung his cloak around his shoulders and strode to the door, picking up pistols and sword on the way. Porthos and Aramis glanced at each other before following him.

In the courtyard, d’Artagnan had gathered any musketeers that remained within the garrison and they stood, armed and ready, waiting for their Captain.

“My daughter and Athos have gone missing; most likely they have been taken by the people that have already targeted my daughter once. We need to find them and see them safe.” Without another word, he made his way down the steps and set off into the streets, followed by his loyal men.

Athos and Eleanor were not sure how long they had been left alone, but it seemed like hours. The door had not opened and they had nothing except the growing dark outside and the steadily cooling air to gauge the passage of time.

Eventually, the door at the top of the stairs opened and Athos rose to his feet, keeping an arm firmly wrapped around Eleanor as she stood with him. Several of the men who had captured them made their way down the stairs, bearing several lamps that lit the room brightly. Three of them moved towards their prisoners, vicious smiles appearing on their faces as Athos pushed Eleanor behind him.

Athos managed to block the first punch, but the second one landed on his jaw and was swiftly repaid with one of his own. The men continued to attack, and try as he might; Athos was unable to avoid every blow. A particularly vicious blow found its’ way through his defences and landed on his cheek, snapping his head back with the force of it. In a moment, they were on him. Hands grasped his arms and shoulders as another arm snaked around his neck from behind, slowly closing around his throat in an iron hold.

As his vision began to swim, he heard Eleanor cry out. Athos thrashed in anger as he saw that another man had taken hold of her. One unfriendly arm was wrapped around her body as he dragged her roughly towards the centre of the room. She fought him as best she could, her hair flying over her face as she struggled against him. But she did not stand a chance against his size and strength, and he was able to pull her across the room and force her to her knees, his hands resting firmly on the back of her neck to keep her there.

“That’s enough.” A voice cut through the air and the grip around Athos’ throat loosened.

He gasped, coughed, and heaved in a breath, fighting to pull air into his lungs as his head spun. His knees had buckled at some point, but the two men holding his arms had forced him to stay upright. As his vision cleared, Athos saw a young man standing at the top of the stairs, his face expressionless as he gazed down on his captives. Slowly he descended the steps and Athos was able to get a better look at him.

He was not tall, but he had an air of command about him. His hair, so dark it was almost black, fell in unruly curls around his ears and bright blue eyes gazed out from a pale face. He smiled; his expression mocking, and Athos felt shock at his youthful appearance.

The boy gazed steadily at the musketeer, seemingly in thought. Finally, he spoke. “So, which one are you?”

“Athos.” The boy’s lips quirked slightly but he said nothing. His head turned slightly as footsteps sounded on the stairs, and he smiled once more. Athos looked past the boy and felt a momentary surprise when he saw a woman making her way towards them. She crossed the room and moved up behind the boy, taking his hand and resting her chin on his shoulder as she gazed at Athos.

“What did you bring me, brother?”

“The girl and a musketeer; says his name is Athos.” The girl smiled and Athos struggled against the hands holding him as she approached him.

“I’ve heard of you; one of Treville’s favourites.” She gazed steadily at him for a moment with the same bright blue eyes as the boy, before turning in a swirl of skirts and moving towards where one of the men still held Eleanor. Slowly she crouched down in front of Eleanor, raising a hand to tilt the girl’s chin and gazing into the blind eyes. After a moment she stood, moving back to the boy.

“It’s perfect; we have Treville’s whelp and his favourite dog. Well done, brother.” She kissed the boy on the cheek, and he glanced at the men holding Athos.

“Carry on.”

“Leave his face. I don’t want him damaged; it would be a waste.” Athos stared at her, uncertain of her meaning.

He was left in no doubt when one of the men approached him and slammed a fist into his stomach, knocking the breath from his body. The men held him fast and he heard Eleanor’s cries as she realised what was happening. He struggled against the men holding him, but he was no match for their combined strength. Athos fought for breath as the blows continued to rain down on his ribs and stomach, leaving him gasping for breath.

Eventually his knees gave way once more, and this time he was allowed to collapse onto the packed dirt of the floor. The three men gathered around him, kicking him viciously and he tried desperately to move away from the blows. He managed to get a knee under his body and went to move, grunting as he felt a rib crack under a particularly vicious kick that sent him sprawling back across the floor. Eleanor’s distressed cries blended with the sounds of the blows, and soon Athos was unable to distinguish one kick from the next through the haze of pain.

Eleanor could hear the sickening sound of blows connecting with flesh, and Athos’ grunts of pain had long since stopped. The awful sounds brought back terrible memories of another brave soul, who had once taken a beating because he had tried to protect her. She heard a terrible cry like that of a wounded animal as she struggled against the man who held her, and realised with horror that it was her own cry of distress. Silencing herself she prayed that he still lived.

“That’s enough.” She heard the same voice that had spoken before; he sounded young, but there was no question of his authority as the sounds of the blows ceased immediately.

Eleanor held her breath, listening intently for any sign that Athos was still alive. Relief flooded through her when she heard harsh, laboured breaths; although she could tell that he was in pain, he was alive at least.

Athos lay on the cold floor; every breath was a struggle, and he could feel countless bruises forming. He fought to stay awake, unwilling to sink into the blissful oblivion that hovered invitingly at the edge of his mind. He wasn’t sure he could move, but he could at least remain conscious. Soft footsteps sounded, and a moment later the hem of a dress swung into view. The girl crouched beside him and placed a soft hand under his cheek, lifting his head and forcing him to look up at her. Her eyes were even more mocking than her brothers as she gazed down at him, dark hair falling softly over her shoulders and almost brushing his face.

“Well I’m surprised you’re still awake; you’re tougher than you look.” A small smile appeared, and she held out her other hand to one of the men. As she laid his head down again, Athos saw the glint of a blade as the man passed it to her. He grunted in pain as a boot was pressed hard against his shoulder, pushing him flat onto his back where he lay, feeling utterly helpless. “Let’s see how you fare in the next round.”

The girl reached down and grasped the front of his shirt, slitting it open. She stood back and watched as two men pulled him upright, ripping the shirt from his back as they did so. One man tied Athos’ wrists together with a rough rope, and he hissed in pain as the man swung the end of the rope over one of the beams and pulled, dragging his hands high above his head. Once again, Athos heard Eleanor’s cry of distress as her hands were also bound and tied to another beam so that she stood opposite him.

Once the ropes were secure, the girl stepped forwards, her hips swinging slowly under her wide skirts. She reached out, her fingers tracing lightly over the reddened skin and bruises that were already forming in pale blue splashes over his stomach and ribs. As he flinched away, she smiled cruelly. In a sudden movement, she shifted, pressing her body against his and running one hand over his back in an awful parody of moments he had shared with Eleanor only that morning. Athos tried to move away, but his bonds gave little room for movement and he hissed as the rope chafed at his wrists. She laughed, wrapping an arm around his waist and pressing her hips against him, her face only inches from his.

“So handsome; such a pity,” her voice was so low he could barely hear it, and her gaze flickered over his face. Abruptly she was gone, spinning on her heel, and moving to re-join her brother. The boy gazed at Athos, his eyes cold.

“Make sure they suffer, I want Treville to see their pain when we deliver their bodies to him,” his voice was quiet, yet full of hatred.

“But don’t kill them just yet.” The girl smirked as she took her brother’s arm and they turned, making their way back up the stairs followed by all but one of the men.

Athos watched as the remaining man, who had so far only stood and observed, stepped forwards into the light of the lanterns. It was the same man who had taken them on the street and now Athos was able to get a better look at their captor. He was perhaps about the same height as Athos and, as he rolled up his sleeves, the musketeer could see whipcord muscle. Cold blue eyes surveyed the two captives from beneath faded red hair. His narrow face was expressionless as he stepped forwards, and Athos’ stomach jolted as he caught sight of a coiled horse whip in his hand.

“What is the purpose of this?” Athos was not stupid enough to provoke the man. But he could at least try and find out what was happening, and perhaps play for some time.

The man shrugged and paused next to where Eleanor stood, watching her face carefully. He swept the whip through the air, stopping just before the handle hit her cheek. She flinched and gasped as she felt the movement of the air. Although above her head, her hands had not been tied so high as Athos’, and she was able to take a half step back before the ropes pulled her up short. The man gazed at her for a moment, his expression mildly curious before turning back to face Athos.

“I don’t ask questions; they pay me, and I do what they ask.”

“Even if it involves harming an innocent woman?” Athos was taken aback when the man gave a humourless laugh.

“Especially when women are involved, and I haven’t harmed her...yet.” He moved towards Athos, his pace leisurely as he moved with a lazy grace and predatory air. Slowly he circled the musketeer, that cold curiosity in his gaze as he studied the marks of the previous beating. “Idiots, no care or finesse; let us see if we can do a better job this time.”

Although Athos knew what was coming, he was still unprepared when the whip hissed through the air and landed on his back. He gritted his teeth as he felt a line of fire form on his skin, his muscles tensing against the impact. As the second blow came, followed quickly by a third, it was only his iron will that prevented him from uttering any sound. Each blow was precise, the force carefully measured. Athos could tell that this man was not just a mindless brute but knew exactly what he was doing; for although the blows were agonising, he was sure that the lash had not yet broken his skin. This, however, was not a comfort for long. The force of the blows was increased, and he felt his skin split beneath the lash. His back arched, the muscles screaming in protest, and Athos grunted, clamping his teeth together in a desperate attempt to avoid crying out.

He fixed his gaze on where Eleanor stood, her wrists straining against the ropes that held her. Her face was anguished, and tears ran down her face, leaving him in no doubt that she knew exactly what was happening. Every time she heard the whip strike him, she flinched, almost as though the blows were landing against her own flesh. Surprisingly, her distress gave him strength and his resolve not to make a sound grew; he could not stand to see her in pain and would not cause her any more distress if it was in his power to avoid it.

After what seemed like forever, the blows ceased, and the man moved once more to circle the musketeer, assessing him carefully. Athos’ legs would no longer fully take his weight and he hung from the rope. His breaths came in short gasps and he fought to regain control of his lungs, each breath made all the more difficult by the strain of hanging from his wrists. He could feel a sheen of sweat on his skin, and what was most certainly blood running down his back, which felt as though it was on fire. The coppery tang of his own blood filled his nose, and he could taste it where he had bitten his lip. Nonetheless he still managed to summon the will to lift his head and look at the man in front of him. The man’s pale eyes stared back, and he tilted his head to one side.

“You take punishment well; one would almost think you haven’t suffered, it’s hardly a surprise though.” He took the handle of the whip and traced it along an old scar that ran across Athos’ shoulder, then along another that traced down his ribs, still just visible beneath fresh blood and bruises. He looked up again, and Athos briefly saw what might have been a flicker of respect in the cold eyes. “But this is a problem you see; I wonder if perhaps your suffering would be greater if I took the whip to her.” He looked over at Eleanor and Athos watched fear dawn on her face as she heard his words.

“You don’t have to do this.” Athos could hear the desperation in his own voice and realised his mistake as a triumphant smile appeared on the man’s face.

“Oh, I do.” He turned and made his way slowly towards Eleanor. Pushing the handle of the whip under her chin, he forced her head up, gazing at her beautiful, tear streaked face. “My lady has demanded that you suffer, and I would rather cross the devil than her.”

He dropped the whip to the floor and slowly reached out a hand, almost tenderly brushing a tear from Eleanor’s cheek. Athos watched as he pulled a knife from his belt and carefully sliced through the ties that secured the top of Eleanor’s dress. His hands were almost gentle as he slipped the garment from her body and dropped it to the floor. They could almost have been the tender actions of a lover. Fear showed on Eleanor’s face as he leant forwards and wrapped his arms around her, tearing the back of her chemise open to the waist. Athos heard her take a sharp breath, and an expression of horrified realisation dawned on her features.

“It was you,” her voice was choked in fear.

“What was that, little one?” He smirked as he circled around her like a cat toying with an injured bird. She flinched away again as he brushed her hair over her shoulder and ran a hand along the soft curve of her back, almost as though he was admiring the smooth skin he had exposed.

“You attacked me in the market.”

A smile formed on the man’s face. With the speed of a striking snake he reached a hand around her, wrapping his fingers firmly around her throat. His other arm slid around her waist, holding her firmly against him as he pressed his body against hers. She struggled and grimaced, but he pushed his finger under her chin and forced her head back, tightening his grip so that she gasped for breath.

“Well aren’t you a clever little thing, I’m impressed that you worked it out.” He pressed his face against her neck, inhaling deeply. “Clever and a beauty; I think I will ask my lady if I might have you for a while later.” He pressed his lips to Eleanor’s neck, his eyes flicking up to meet Athos’ gaze and a smile forming as he saw the rage on the musketeer’s face. “Now to work; I was less than impressed that you managed to survive the poison, I was assured it would work. But you must have greater strength than I counted on.” He stood back and scooped up the whip from the floor before moving to stand just behind Eleanor once more, running his hand over her back again as she trembled beneath his touch. “I do so like a completely blank canvas to work on, but I see someone has beaten me to it at some point.” He frowned as he traced a finger over the scar on her ribs and the ones next to it. “Ah well, there’s still plenty more of you to work on.”

Abruptly he removed his hand and raised the whip, bringing it hissing down across her back. Eleanor’s body tensed and she let out a choked sob; her eyes squeezed shut against the pain. Athos struggled furiously against his bonds, roaring in anger and frustration as the whip descended again. As Eleanor’s cries mingled with the snap of the lash, Athos realised that the man had been right; he could take a beating, but watching Eleanor suffer was too much to bear.


	17. Chapter 17

The musketeer regiment followed their Captain through the streets as he made his way along the route that he knew Athos and Eleanor would have taken. At every side street and alley some of his men peeled off to search, re-joining the group empty handed and with grim expressions on their faces. The group had grown since it had left the garrison, more musketeers joining them from taverns or their homes as they passed and told them what was afoot. Aramis, Porthos and d’Artagnan had stuck together as they searched, peeling off in a group to search alleys and doorways. Although all the musketeers were anxious to find their missing brother, these three would feel it most keenly if anything happened to him or the girl.

“Captain.” The shout echoed through the street and Treville turned to see a small group of men emerging from a small side street, something clutched in the hands of the man at the front.

“What is it?”

The man stopped in front of him and handed him something, Treville took it, feeling the weight of sodden wool as it draped over his arms. He was taken aback when Aramis reached out, snatching the wet fabric from his hands and studying it carefully in the dim light. When he looked up, his face was grim.

“It’s Eleanor’s cloak, Captain.” The sharpshooter held out the fabric, showing Treville the delicate, silvery embroidery that traced the hem.” I recognise it from this morning.”

“Jesus, what now?” Treville heard Porthos’ exclamation and could not deny that he felt the same; they had found where Eleanor and Athos had been taken but that would not lead them far.

“Search the surrounding streets.” He shouted the order to be heard over the storm and watched as his men turned to disperse through the rain. “You three.” His remaining inseparables turned to him. “Go to the Court of Miracles, ask around, see if anyone has seen anything in that part of the city; promise a hundred livre to anyone who can bring us any information that leads us to them.”

They nodded and turned without a word and Treville made his way back into the alley to continue the search with the rest of his men.

“Why does he think we’ll find anything near the Court?” D’Artagnan blinked water out of his eyes as he jogged along beside Porthos.

“Where else would you take someone if you didn’t want them to be found?” Porthos grunted his reply and stopped suddenly, holding out a hand to halt the others. “Wait here, I’ll go in alone.” Without another word he made his way through the archway and into the Court of Miracles.

Porthos made his way through the narrow street at the entrance to the Court, hearing only a very faint warning strike as those who had not sheltered inside noticed him. He walked as fast as he dared, keeping his hands well in view as he approached the doors to the inside and the guards that sat outside them.

“I need to see the queen.”

“Why?” The men regarded him warily, looking at the fleur-de-lis on his shoulder.

“Please, just tell her that Porthos is here.” The big musketeer thought he saw a flicker of recognition at his name and desperately wished he could growl at the men to let him in, but starting a fight would solve nothing right now. He would save his anger for when he caught the people who had taken his friends. He was relieved when one of the men turned and hurried into the building.

He had only been waiting a few minutes when the door swung open and he was ushered inside and led through the twisting passages of the Court. At last they came to a room and the curtain was pulled aside to let him through. Flea stood as he entered, the smile dropping from her face when she saw his expression.

“Porthos, what is it?” She frowned, scrutinising him carefully.

“Captain’s daughter and Athos have been taken. Treville reckons they’ve been brought to this part of the city.”

“You don’t think they’re here?” Her face was incredulous and Porthos could swear that he saw her bristle; if he had not been so worried, he would have thought it attractive.

“No, but your people know this area better than anyone. We need your help, Flea, they could be anywhere, and anything could have happened to them.” He watched as she considered his words and was relieved when she nodded.

“Alright.”

“You’re a good woman; by the way, Captain’s offered a hundred livre to anyone that brings him information that leads us to them.”

“Well why didn’t you mention that before?” Despite the seriousness of the situation, Porthos could not suppress a chuckle as she led him from the room.

The rain continued to pour as Treville paced restlessly through the chamber that Flea had set aside for him. He had been persuaded to come to the court by Aramis; the sharpshooter explaining that if the Captain was here, then he could be found quickly should the search of the city reveal anything. He picked up a cup of wine, and then put it down again, moving to the small window and peering out into the downpour. He could see figures moving back and forth; vague, blurred shapes in the grey light. It would be dawn soon.

He turned as the door burst open with a crash, bouncing off the wall behind it and hitting Porthos’ outstretched hand as he reached out to stop it. Treville frowned as he saw the burden in the big musketeers’ arms. It was a child, perhaps five years old, and possibly one of the most beautiful children he had ever seen. She had one small arm around Porthos’ neck as he carried her without effort. Her gaze was steady as she regarded the musketeer Captain with solemn, dark eyes that stared out from beneath dark curls that were damp from rain and whipped about by the wind. Gently, Porthos set the child down and she drew close to him, clutching something tight to her chest as though it was a precious treasure.

“What is it, Porthos?” Treville could not keep the impatience from his voice and he saw the child shrink closer to the musketeer.

“Show him what you’ve got, Jacquetta.” Porthos addressed the child softly and Treville wondered briefly how a little girl in a ragged dress and bare feet had come across such a regal name.

His thoughts were brought back to the present when the girl glanced up at Porthos before taking a hesitant step forward, and holding out the hand that had been clutched to her chest. Treville looked on in astonishment; there, crumpled in her small hand was a familiar strip of fabric that Treville had seen almost every day for years. Soaked through and dirty, but unmistakably the scarf that Athos favoured. Treville resisted the urge to snatch it from the child. Instead, he stepped towards her and crouched down, putting himself on a level with her solemn, dark eyes.

“May I?” He managed to keep his voice calm, not wanting to scare the child, and reached out his hand. Jacquetta nodded, offering the scarf to him, and watching as he rose to his feet, pacing once more. “Who found this?”

“She did; brought it to Flea just now.”

“Can you remember where you found it?” Treville fixed the little girl with his gaze and she stared back, un-phased, and nodded. “Can you show us?” Another nod and Treville turned his gaze to Porthos. “Find the men, bring them here.”

“Aramis and d’Artagnan are already on it; some of them are already here.” Porthos scooped up the child as Treville made for the door and turned to follow his Captain, taking the little girl who held the only lead they had with him.

In the outer part of the Court, the musketeers had started to gather, brought back by the messages passed through the streets by d’Artagnan and Aramis. Treville counted about fifteen gathered so far, and noted a few more cautiously entering the realms of the Court and moving to join their brothers. He looked around until he spotted two men standing close by.

“Mikel, Therron, stay here; wait for the others and keep them here. If we need you then I’ll send a runner.” The men nodded, not questioning their Captain and Treville turned to the rest of the men, raising his voice to be heard above the still falling rain. “Make ready to leave.” He did not need to say anything else, nor would he; they were soldiers and would obey without question, although he did note a few questioning glances directed at the child in Porthos’ arms. He nodded at the big musketeer and Porthos moved towards the gate, Aramis and d’Artagnan moving to stand beside him.

Gently, Porthos set Jacquetta down, frowning as her bare feet touched the wet cobbles, and her small toes wiggled in the water that pooled on the streets. He spoke gently to her and she gazed solemnly at him before turning and setting off into the street at a run, the group of musketeers following her as though she were a hound at the hunt.

They followed the child as she made her way through the twisting streets, bare feet sure on the slick, shining stones. The rain was beginning to ease, and the pounding of the musketeer’s boots became clearer over the now faint patter of drops on stone. Treville glanced at his men as they jogged along the street; they were exhausted. The sky was beginning to lighten to a faint grey in the East, meaning that many of them had now not slept for almost a full day and night. But not for nothing were they in this regiment, and he trusted that they would manage whatever they found at Jacquetta’s destination. Just ahead of him he saw Aramis, Porthos and d’Artagnan leading the pack, coursing forwards like hounds on a scent; they would find Athos just as they would always find any of their group that went missing. They had not been named the inseparables for nothing.

As the first faint streaks of dawn light turned the clouds to pink and gold, Jacquetta stopped. The group stopped with her, the men milling about uncertainly in the damp street. Treville stepped forwards to where Porthos had crouched next to the child and was speaking to her.

“What is it?” Jacquetta looked up at him, her dark eyes huge in her pale face. She turned, pointing to a house that stood, for want of a better word, at the end of the street.

“There,” her single word confirmed her gesture and Treville nodded.

He reached up for the fastening of his cloak and swung the heavy fabric from his shoulders. Miraculously, it was still dry on the inside and he settled it over the child; although the ragged little thing was more than likely used to being wet and cold, he did not see any reason that she should remain so on his account.

“Stay here, little one. Pierre, look after her.”

The man he had singled out nodded and stepped forwards, picking up Jacquetta and moving to a small overhang which would offer them some small protection from the rain that still fell steadily, now more of a fine drizzle than the downpour of earlier, but still not pleasant to stand in. Treville motioned the rest of the men forwards and they made their way cautiously to the house at the end of the street.

They crept quietly towards the door, drawing weapons as they did so. Treville paused at one side of the door, facing Aramis. “We’re sure this is the right house?”

“Well if it isn’t then we’ll just have to apologise.” They started as what was unmistakably a scream sounded from inside the house. “Never mind.” Aramis looked at Porthos who stood ready. Treville followed the Spaniard’s gaze before nodding and taking a step back as Porthos lowered his shoulder.

The door gave way all too easily and Porthos’ momentum carried him into the house. Treville did not wait before leading the rest of the men through the door, pistols held at the ready. One man was slumped against the wall at the other side of the hall, the result of a blow from Porthos. Treville grasped a man who ran towards him, knocking a knife from his hands and slamming him against a wall. He heard a sickening crack as the man’s head hit the wall, but at the moment, he did not care.

“The musketeer and the girl, where are they?” he bellowed into the man’s face.

Treville looked up as a door slammed somewhere and muffled voices sounded from further inside the house. Throwing the man aside he turned to see a musketeer dispatch one of the last men and caught sight of the tails of Aramis’ coat disappearing round a corner. He turned to follow his musketeers, finding them gathered around a door that looked like it was the most solid thing in the whole crumbling house.

“We’ve searched all the other rooms, there’s no one left unless they’re in here.” D’Artagnan had a shallow cut across his neck, but it was nothing serious.

Treville glanced at the door and looked at Aramis who was absentmindedly re-loading his pistol, his eyes fixed on his Captain.

“Open it.”

The sharpshooter nodded and stepped in front of the door, aiming his pistol at the lock and pulling his hat over his eyes. The rapport of the gun echoed through the house and the lock burst in a shower of sparks. Treville stepped forwards and nudged the door open with his foot, cautiously making his way into the dark space beyond.

He paused just inside the doorway, listening carefully as his eyes adjusted to the dim lantern light. He could hear faint, gasping breaths but little else in the darkness. The air in the cellar carried the scent of damp and neglect, along with the faint, underlying tang of blood. He heard Aramis’ soft tread behind him and Porthos’ heavier footing to one side, a moment later the steps in front of him were bathed in light as d’Artagnan stepped forwards bearing another lamp. Together, they made their way down the steps, and when the lamplight hit the bottom of the stairs Treville could not help himself as he stopped dead in his tracks.

“Mon dieu.” Treville heard Aramis’ whispered exclamation and a sharp intake of breath from d’Artagnan. Eleanor and Athos hung by their wrists from the ceiling, each of them quite still.

After a moment, Treville was able to shake himself and start forwards again, moving first towards Eleanor as Aramis strode towards Athos. The corseted top of Eleanor’s dress lay discarded on the floor, and he could see the dark gleam of blood on her chemise. She hung limp in the ropes, her hair falling across her face. For one dreadful moment, Treville feared the worst. He moved towards her and placed his hand under her chin to lift her face towards him. The effect was instant; she gave a cry of fear and pulled away, struggling against the ropes.

“Eleanor, Eleanor, hush, it’s me, hush now.” Treville placed his hands on her cheeks, desperately trying to calm her. After a few moments, his words seemed to make their way through her fear and she stopped struggling, disbelief and understanding forming on her face.

“F... Father?”

“Yes, it’s me, I’m here for you.”

“You found us...I didn’t think...” Tears of relief started to spill down her cheeks, and she sobbed.

Beside them, Treville saw Porthos reach towards the ropes with his dagger in hand. With a few neat cuts he severed the bonds, and Eleanor’s legs collapsed beneath her. Treville caught her as she fell, guiding her to her knees and placing an arm around her shoulders. He nearly leapt back when she cried out and flinched away from him.

“What is it? What’s...?” Treville trailed off as he saw Porthos’ face, the musketeer had his gaze fixed on Eleanor’s back.

“Jesus.” Treville heard the soft exclamation, and as he looked down, his gaze lighted on a horsewhip thrown carelessly to the ground a short way away.

“Oh no.” Treville could barely bring himself to look down at his daughter as she knelt beside him.

Slowly, he lowered his gaze to her back, and hesitantly brushed her hair across her shoulder, feeling her tremble beneath his hand. He felt a swell of rage, hatred, and sadness all at once as the sight beneath her hair was revealed. Her chemise had been torn open, exposing her back to the waist. Criss-crossing the pale skin were bruises and fine welts, stark blue and red against the fair skin. Across some, her skin had split, dark blood drops welling from them that left bright streaks of red across her shoulders where he had touched her. Porthos unfastened his cloak and swung it from his shoulders, before gently lowering it across Eleanor’s back to cover the dreadful marks.

“Athos, where’s Athos...is he...?” Eleanor made as though to try and stand but her strength failed her, and she collapsed against Treville. He looked over at where Aramis and d’Artagnan had cut Athos from his bonds, laying him carefully on the packed dirt floor. His back was to Treville, affording the Captain a perfect view of the whip marks that marred his musketeer; long, open wounds that left his skin in bloody tatters. Treville caught Aramis’ gaze and was relieved when the medic nodded, his face grim.

“He’s alive.” He felt her release the breath she had been holding, and glanced up at where a group of several other musketeers had formed on the stairs. “Fetch a cart; we need to get them out of here.”

Two nodded and turned, taking the steps two at a time and Treville allowed his gaze to stray back to where Athos lay. He had seen flogged men before, had ordered it done, had even wielded the whip himself in his time; but this was something else. It had not been done as punishment or reprimand; it had been calculated and vicious, the whip wielded with a degree of skill that made it all the more terrible to see, and he was certain all the more terrible to have suffered. He shuddered, running one hand through Eleanor’s hair and pulling her trembling body closer to him; needing to touch her and reassure himself of her safety.

“Captain.” Treville tore his eyes away from Athos as the sound of footsteps thundered down the stairs. It was Philippe, a young noble only recently commissioned to the regiment.

“What is it?” The boy looked horrified and Treville gave him a hard stare that made him regain his self-control.

“It’s Pierre, Sir.” Treville glanced up at Porthos, motioning to him to take care of Eleanor. The big musketeer nodded and knelt, taking the girl’s arm and pulling her gently towards him as the Captain stood. As he turned away, Treville heard Porthos murmuring softly, ensuring her that she was safe. Satisfied that his daughter was in safe hands, Treville turned and followed the boy up the rickety staircase, hearing d’Artagnan follow close behind.

The rain had stopped, leaving the air smelling fresh and clean in the bright dawn. Treville stepped out onto the damp, shining cobbles and followed Philippe to the opposite side of the street and along to the overhang where he had left Pierre to guard Jacquetta. He could see neither the child nor the musketeer and felt a lurch of worry in the pit of his stomach. A few more steps and the boy halted, his young face grim in the early morning light, Treville looked at the boy and then followed his gaze to the shadow of the overhang.

Pierre lay on the cobbles, his blood mixing with the water on the street and being steadily washed away in dark streams. His sword lay beside him and his pistol not far away. Treville crouched beside him, noting the dark stain of blood on the wall where Pierre had fallen and slid down. As he looked at the young man’s face, the Captain felt the sadness that he always felt when one of his men met their end, coupled with the guilt that always accompanied it. He had ordered this young man to stand here. Out of any that he could have chosen he had chosen him; and that decision, made in a split second without a moments’ thought had cost Pierre his life. Shaking the sinking feeling off, he turned to the small group of musketeers standing nearby.

“Find another cart; we’ll take him home.” One of them nodded and turned to run through the streets and Treville looked back to Pierre’s body, spotting a pile of blue fabric a few yards away. With a lurch in his stomach, he recognised his cloak and turned back to Philippe. “Where’s the girl?”

“Sir?” The young musketeer looked blank.

“The child, you fool, the one who led us here, where is she?”

“I... she wasn’t here, Sir.”

“Find her,” Treville’s voice was terse. looking down once more at Pierre’s still body, the Captain rose to his feet and turned to look for the child; she could not have gone far. He turned to one of the many small side streets and began to search the shadows for the little girl. He hoped to God that she had not been harmed; if she had then he did not think he could forgive himself.

“Captain.” Treville turned and made his way back up the street towards the call, hoping against hope that it was good news. Philippe stood at the entrance to a small alley that ran alongside a tavern, a frown on his young face. “She’s here, Sir; she won’t come out.” The boy pointed to a pile of crates and barrels stacked against the tavern wall.

Treville nodded and started towards the crates, careful to move quietly lest he scare the child further. She cowered in the shadows cast by the tavern wall and the stacked barrels; squeezed into the smallest space between the wall and an old barrel with a hole in its side. Her arms were thrown over her head, as though by blocking her own sight she might hide from unfriendly eyes.

“Jacquetta?” He heard a small sob and one large, brown eye appeared through the smallest of spaces beneath her thin arm. Treville slowly stepped forwards into the mass of crates, careful not to make any sudden movements. “Jacquetta it’s alright, you’re safe.”

“Bad man.” The child’s cry wrenched at Treville, full of terror and horror. With a terrible feeling in his stomach, he realised that she must have witnessed Pierre’s end.

“He’s gone, you’re safe. Come on, come with me and we’ll get you home.” Slowly, as though reaching for a skittish horse, Treville stretched out his hands towards the child. She hesitated for a moment but then came willingly, wrapping her arms around his neck and sobbing into his shoulder. As she moved, Treville saw the splash of blood across her pale cheek and realised with a jolt just how close she had been to danger. “It’s alright, it’s alright; you’re safe now.” As he held her in his arms, rocking her back and forth and running his fingers through her soft curls, Treville was not sure if he was reassuring the child or himself.

When Treville reached the main street once more, the child safely in his arms and wrapped in Philippe’s cloak, the men sent for the carts had returned, an old, sturdy pony pulling each. He sent the young musketeer into the house to tell the others to bring Athos and Eleanor out to the carts, and turned to direct the loading of Pierre’s body onto the second cart. The little pony’s nostrils flared at the scent of blood, but she was a steadfast little creature, and did not attempt to move away as a small group of musketeers gently placed their fallen brother in the bed of the cart and covered him with his cloak. Treville turned as the door to the house opened and the remainder of the regiment made their way onto the cobbled street.

Porthos had Eleanor in his arms, her head resting against his shoulder as he carried her carefully. Her back was still covered with his cloak, the bright blue fabric concealing her ripped clothes and torn skin. Treville was grateful when he saw that she had sunk into oblivion and was spared the pain of being moved. Carefully, Porthos laid her in the cart and turned to help Aramis and d’Artagnan as they brought Athos out onto the street. Each of his brothers had one of Athos’ arms slung around each of their shoulders as he hung limply between them. They laid him carefully on the straw in the bed of the cart and Aramis swept his cloak over the still form of their brother. Porthos glanced at Treville, frowning as he noted the child in his arms.

“What happened?”

“She’s been frightened; you’re coming to the Court of Miracles with me to take her back. Aramis, d’Artagnan, go back to my house with Athos and Eleanor and care for them. The rest of you, take Pierre back to the garrison; I’ll be there shortly.”

The men moved quickly to obey the orders of their Captain. They moved silently in the early morning light as the sun rose and shone, golden and bright in mockery of their grief and sorrow.


	18. Chapter 18

Aramis and d’Artagnan carefully drove their cart through the winding streets of Paris, mindful of the burden they carried. They had parted with their fellow musketeers at the gate of the garrison, leaving them to the solemn task of preparing Pierre for burial. Now they took a somewhat circuitous route over the rain slick cobbles, avoiding the main streets and the curious stares of those people up and about. Both felt that Athos and Eleanor had suffered enough already, without rumours of what had happened to them spreading through the city.

D’Artagnan leapt from the cart before it had quite stopped and hammered on the door, heedless of who he woke. Aramis had just carefully lifted the still unconscious Eleanor from the bed of the cart when the door flew open. Anna stepped out into the damp morning air; her face drawn with worry. The housekeeper’s hand flew to her mouth as she took in the scene in front of her.

“What happened?”

“They’ve been hurt, Madame; we need to care for them both.”

“Bring them.” She stepped aside as Aramis made his way into the house, her gaze fixed on Eleanor’s pale face. After a moment, she shook herself, and moved to help d’Artagnan as he pulled Athos from the cart bed. She barked at the little maid to fetch water as they hauled the unconscious musketeer through the house.

Aramis carefully laid Eleanor on her bed and heard footsteps on the stairs as Athos was brought up. He gently lifted the cloak away from her body and parted the tattered remains of her chemise, the fine linen stained with blood. He winced as he saw the bruises and welts that marred her pale skin and frowned as he caught sight of the pale scars beneath the fresh marks.

“Barbaric,” Aramis could not help the whispered exclamation as he carefully swept her hair out of the way. He jumped as Eleanor’s body jerked and she gasped, the green eyes snapping open. She cried out and flinched away, her hands grasping at the sheets for purchase. “Eleanor it’s alright, you’re safe.”

Aramis grasped her hands, but she continued to struggle, her fear lending her the strength to overcome her pain. In desperation, Aramis grasped the golden cross that lay against his chest and pulled the chain over his head. He grasped Eleanor’s hand and pushed the cross between her fingers. Her hand closed tightly on the metal and she gasped as the sharp edges dug into her palm. The pain cut through her fear and her wild struggles settled, her breath coming in short gasps and sobs. Aramis stroked her hair, murmuring soft reassurances under his breath as he would to a skittish horse.

“Monsieur.” Aramis looked up and saw Alice at the door, a bowl of steaming water in her hands and a bundle of cloths tucked under one arm. The young maid gazed in horror at where Eleanor lay, and Aramis moved quickly to rescue the bowl of water from her trembling hands.

“Off you go, Alice; prepare some food and heat more water.” Anna had appeared behind the maid and placed a firm hand on her shoulder, gently steering her out into the hallway before stepping into the room. “How is she?” Her eyes were fixed on her charge, travelling over the fear on her face, the wounds across her back and the shallow breaths. The sight was enough to shake even the unshakeable housekeeper.

“The wounds themselves are not serious,” Aramis kept his voice low; he did not want to send Eleanor into another fit of fear.

“Then go to your friend, Monsieur; I can tend to Eleanor, but he needs a more practiced hand.” Aramis paused in the act of dipping a cloth into the steaming bowl, watching as Anna took a small bottle from a pocket in her apron. “A small amount of poppy syrup will help her I think.”

“A small dose to calm her will help.” Aramis wrung out the cloth. “You’re sure you’ll be alright with her, Madame?”

“Go, she’ll be fine.” She took the cloth from him, and he nodded in thanks before slipping soft footed from the room.

The sun had risen high in the sky by the time Aramis had finished treating the wounds that covered Athos’ body. He and d’Artagnan had sponged the bruises that covered their friends’ body and arms. They had cleaned cuts and Aramis had stitched the worst of the lash marks, setting the torn skin back in place as best he could. He shook his head as he checked the stitches on the deepest cut across Athos’ shoulder blade, marvelling that he had not been able to see the bone.

Aramis was no stranger to stitching his friends’ wounds; it was almost as natural as breathing and he could normally do so in good humour, chatting easily or making jokes. This was not even the first time that one of his friends had been tortured, usually for information. But this was something else entirely; brutal, precise, and senseless. Carefully, Aramis covered the cut over with clean linen and sighed again as he turned his attention to Athos’ head. Mercifully, his friend had not woken while they had tended his wounds, remaining in blissful oblivion. But now, Aramis frowned as he ran his fingers carefully through the dark hair, searching for cuts, bumps, or fractures. There was nothing, and only one bruise showed beneath the beard and another on his cheek. He had seen Athos take many worse hits to the face almost without blinking, no, it could not be that. Aramis supposed that his friends’ lack of consciousness was due to the shock of the ill-treatment that his body had received, hardly a surprise, but concerning, nonetheless.

Aramis looked up as knocking sounded from downstairs and d’Artagnan sprang to his feet. The boy kept one hand on his pistol as he made his way out the door and down the stairs. Aramis heard him slip soft footed through the house, and a moment later the voices of Treville and Porthos drifted up to the room. As their footsteps sounded on the stairs, Aramis wiped his hands on a linen rag, eager to remove his friend’s blood from his fingers. He sighed as he dropped it onto a pile of other rags soaked in blood and made his way out into the hallway.

“Captain,” Aramis greeted Treville as the Captain stepped up into the hallway.

“How are they?” Treville asked without preamble, the lines of worry etched on his face.

“Eleanor is shaken and scared; she has mainly bruises and a few cuts from the beating.” Aramis spotted a smudge of blood on the back of his hand and rubbed at it.

“And Athos?”

“They beat him to within an inch of his life before they started on her.”

Treville drew in a deep breath, marshalling his thoughts and anger.

“Are they awake?”

“Athos is still unconscious; we’ve given Eleanor some poppy syrup to calm her down, but I’m not sure if she’s still awake.”

Treville nodded and set off down the hall towards Eleanor’s room, the musketeers following in his wake.

Gently, Treville pushed the door open and Anna rose to her feet from the chair beside the bed, wiping her hands on her apron and raising her fingers to her lips in warning. Treville looked at the bed, his eyes sweeping over Eleanor where she lay on her side, carefully positioned so as not to aggravate the wounds on her back and stomach. Her face was pale, and although she slept, her features were not peaceful. He backed out of the door, beckoning Anna to follow him. Once they were in the hallway he turned to Anna, his questioning glance enough to let her know what he wanted.

“The poppy syrup will help her sleep, but it may not keep dreams away. I don’t want to give her too much; it will do her no good and she will still need to face what has happened at some point.” Although the housekeeper’s tone was kind, it still brooked no arguments as to what was best for her charge. Treville nodded at her words, running a hand over his eyes, and suddenly looking very tired. Anna looked him over, her voice stern. “We have given them what help we can for now; we must look after you and the rest of your young men here.”

“We have no time, we must-”

“There is nothing that cannot wait while you take a short time for a cup of wine at the least.” She levelled her gaze at him, a glare hovering round the edges and drew herself up to her full height.

Although she only came up to his shoulder, she was still formidable and Treville backed down, allowing her to take his elbow and steer him down the hall towards the stairs. He paused at the door to Athos’ room and gently pulled his arm from Anna’s grasp. Quietly he opened the door and looked into the room. He remained just long enough to look for the rise and fall of Athos’ ribs to ensure his best soldier still lived, before slipping from the room and allowing Anna to steer him down the stairs.

D’Artagnan gratefully sipped the wine that Alice placed on the table in front of him and turned his gaze to Porthos. “Where’s the little girl?”

“Took her back to Flea; she’ll look after her.” Porthos glanced at Treville, and d’Artagnan saw a look pass between the two men. Something had happened, likely involving the child, but d’Artagnan was not about to irritate Treville by pressing for answers.

“What about the others?” Aramis swirled his wine in his glass.

“Gone back to the garrison to prepare for Pierre’s burial.” Treville drained his glass and set it down. “Which is where I need to get back to now. Aramis, d’Artagnan, I know you were training closely with Pierre; would you like to go?”

“What about Athos and Eleanor?”

“Porthos has offered to look after them.” Aramis and d’Artagnan thought for a moment before both nodding and setting their glasses down as Treville stood. “We’ll be back in a few hours.” He picked up his hat and left the house, Aramis and d’Artagnan following behind him. Porthos watched them go and sighed, draining his glass before making his way towards the stairs.

Eleanor was still sleeping; the poppy syrup giving her rest for the moment at least, and Porthos wondered what state of mind she would be in when she woke. He and his friends had all had some form of unpleasant encounter with an enemy; it was to be expected in their chosen career. But this was different; even they, hardened soldiers as they were, had all experienced the after-effects of such encounters. There had been more than one night when Porthos had woken from a dream of capture, or had seen Aramis toss in his sleep, a flash of hesitation on d’Artagnan’s face or a deeper darkness in Athos’ eyes than was normal. He watched as Eleanor’s hand flinched on the cover and sighed. Strong as she was, he feared this would not be an easy road to recovery, certainly not while the monsters responsible for this were still on the loose. He thought again on the conversation he and Treville had had on their way back from the court of miracles.

_“Is the child safe there?” Treville had gripped the hilt of his sword, his knuckles white in the early morning light._

_“As safe as she can be.”_

_“She’s an orphan?”_

_“Parents abandoned her at the court, decided she weren’t worth looking after.”_

_Treville had shaken his head, unable to comprehend abandoning ones’ own child to poverty and danger on the streets. He knew many people would have abandoned Eleanor. Many people had encouraged he and Isabelle to do so when the child’s blindness had become apparent. But they would not abandon their daughter, each of them already possessed of a deep love for the child._

_“She shouldn’t be left there.”_

_“What are you going to do? Sweep her away from there?” Porthos stopped himself from scoffing. He had seen too many children abandoned to the harsh mercy of the streets._

_“Maybe.”_

_“She’s not some stray puppy you can just pull of the street and add to a pack.”_

_“No, she’s a child, who runs barefoot in rags, who the world has shown no love to. But she helped us, and I have the means to help her.”_

_“Well if you do then do it right.” Treville had nodded at this and both men had walked in silence for the rest of the way._

Eleanor stirred in her sleep, jolting Porthos from his thoughts and he glanced out the window, surprised to see the afternoon light beginning to fade. The big musketeer rose to his feet, laying a hand softly on her fiery hair before making his way quietly from the room.

In Athos’ room, Porthos gazed out of the window, the sky was overcast again, the heavy, grey clouds making it seem later than it was. As he watched, a narrow gap opened in the rolling cloud and red sunlight leaked from it, staining across the sky like blood from a wound. As he looked at it, Porthos’ mind flashed back to that morning and the sight of Athos’ back torn to shreds by the whip. He shuddered and turned away, his gaze finding the bed. Athos still slept, his hair damp with sweat and his face pale. Nonetheless each of his ragged breaths was a welcome reminder to Porthos that his friend still lived.

A faint thud sounded from another part of the house and Porthos turned, his body tensed and ready. The sound came again, a muffled thud of flesh against wood followed by hesitant footsteps in the hallway. With a brief glance at where Athos still lay, Porthos moved quietly across the room and into the hall, drawing his pistol as he went.

In the dim light of the lamps, Porthos caught a flash of movement at the end of the hall near Eleanor's room and heard a faint intake of breath. Quickly he raised his pistol and took a few steps closer, dreading that an intruder had managed to enter the house. A figure stood near Eleanor's room and Porthos saw the lamplight flash on the girls' fiery hair as she stumbled forwards, one hand crashing against the wall as she caught herself. He strode down the hallway, stowing his pistol and reaching for the girl as she leant heavily on the wall.

"Madame, are you alright?" Porthos gripped her arm, steadying her as he peered into the dark room behind her, eyes scanning for anything that might have caused her distress. He heard the front door of the house open and a moment later there were footsteps on the stairs, Treville's tread distinct. "What is it?" Eleanor gripped his arm, her fingers digging into his flesh and her breaths short with pain.

"Take me to Athos, please, I need to..." She trailed off, clutching at where the whip mark trailed across her stomach. Even in the dim light, Porthos could see that she was barely holding herself together.

"Porthos, what's going on?" Treville's voice sounded from behind them, but the big musketeer did not look round. He gazed at Eleanor in the dim light, concerned at the obvious distress on her features and her short breaths as she fought to stay on her feet.

"Not sure, Sir."

Treville approached them, concern on his face as he swept his gaze over his daughter. "Eleanor, you're not yet recovered, you need to rest." He reached out to take her arm, but she pulled it back out of his grasp, stumbling against the wall again.

"No," her voice was suddenly stronger. "I need to go to Athos."

"He still hasn't woken; he needs to rest and so do you."

"I can't, I..." She paused; her breaths choked as though she was trying not to cry. Porthos watched Treville's face soften as he recognised something in her tone.

"What is it, Eleanor? What's troubling you?" his voice was gentle, and Eleanor dragged in a harsh breath before answering.

"The last time I heard him breathing, it was faint, as though he struggled, as though it might stop at any moment. I heard them beating him; I heard their fists hitting him and the crack of the whip as it landed on him. That's all I can hear when I try to rest, and I need to know he still lives. Please, Father, I need to touch him and feel that he still breathes and that his heart still beats." She stopped in a gasp of pain and Porthos held her steady as she sagged against him.

"Alright." Treville glanced at Porthos and nodded. "We'll take you to him if it will help you, but you must promise to rest afterwards."

Eleanor nodded her agreement and Porthos gently grasped her arm, helping her down the hall to where Athos lay. Over her head he saw the shocked faces of Aramis and d’Artagnan where they hovered at the top of the stairs.

Carefully, the musketeer guided Eleanor into the bedroom, feeling her body tense as she heard Athos' ragged breaths. Gently he helped her into the chair beside the bed and took her hand, placing it next to Athos' where it lay still on the covers beside the bolster. Porthos stepped back as her fingers quested forwards, making their way across the folds of sheets. Her breath hitched as she felt Athos’ skin under hers and her fingers gripped his hand briefly. Treville and Porthos watched as she felt her way to his shoulder and up to his neck, her fingers pressing gently against the point where his blood pulsed beneath the skin. When she had felt the steady beats for a moment, Eleanor let out a breath and her shoulders slumped as the tension dropped from her body. Tears fell down her cheeks as her breath came in soft sobs; the events of the past night catching up with her.

“Oh Athos.” Gently her fingers brushed his face and she wept, her shoulders shaking. “I’m so sorry, please forgive me.” Tears rained down her cheeks and Treville made to step forwards. He stopped as Porthos laid a heavy hand on his chest, blocking his way.

“Leave her,” his voice was quiet as he met Treville’s gaze and shook his head. “She needs this; let her cry, and then you can tell her she’s not to blame.” He stepped back, pulling the Captain with him and guiding him out of the door.

Aramis and d’Artagnan stood in the hallway, concern on their faces. Treville shook his head as d’Artagnan opened his mouth to speak; he knew Eleanor’s hearing was sharp enough to hear any conversation they might have, and he did not want to upset her any further. He motioned them further down the hall, just far enough that Eleanor would not hear their lowered voices but not so far that they would not hear her if she called for them.

“How is she?” d’Artagnan’s eyes flicked to the bedroom door.

“Shaken and blaming herself.” Treville sighed as he followed d’Artagnan’s gaze.

“How could she think that she was possibly to blame for this?” Aramis was incredulous.

“I don’t know-” They turned as a cry sounded from the bedroom and ran down the hall.

They burst through the door, Treville in the lead with one hand on his sword, not sure what he was going to find. Eleanor still sat beside the bed, but her body was rigid with pain and fear. It was not until they had all fully entered the room that they saw why. Athos had regained consciousness but not fully, his eyes were unfocused and glassy, his breathing fast and shallow, every muscle tensed. One of his hands was clamped around Eleanor’s wrist, his fingers digging into her flesh. Eleanor’s free hand scrabbled at his fingers, her nails leaving red marks across his skin as she struggled to break his crushing grasp.

“Athos, let her go.” Treville leapt forwards but Aramis stopped him.

“He can’t stop; he’s not awake, not properly.”

“Then what do we do? He’s hurting her.” Treville looked back at Eleanor as she gasped in pain.

“Here, Monsieur.” Anna had entered the room, drawn by the disturbance. She pushed past Porthos and d’Artagnan and thrust something into Aramis’ hands. The musketeer looked down and saw the bottle of poppy syrup. “Quickly, before he damages himself or the lady.” Anna pushed his arm and Aramis nodded, reaching the bed in a few strides.

Carefully he sat on the bed beside Athos, making sure that he did not crush Eleanor’s hand where it was still trapped. Placing one hand on the side of Athos’ head to hold him still and, he hoped, calm him a little, Aramis slipped the stopper from the bottle with his thumb. He pressed the bottle to Athos’ lips, careful not to give him too much of the syrup; he wanted to help his friend sleep, but not permanently.

After a few moments, Athos breathing settled back to what it had been before, and his eyes closed once more. Aramis heard Eleanor’s gasp as Athos released his vice like grip on her hand. When he was sure that Athos had settled, Aramis turned to Eleanor; she clutched her hand to her chest, cradling it gingerly with the other. Between her fingers the medic could see livid red marks that would likely bruise. She sobbed, fresh tears falling down her cheeks and Treville stepped forwards, reaching for her.

“Eleanor.” He touched her arm and she flinched away. “Eleanor it’s alright.” He hesitated, not sure what to do. Anna stepped past him, pressing gently on his arm to move him aside.

“Come, child, you cannot stay here; you must rest and so must he.” The housekeeper placed her strong arms around Eleanor, drawing the sobbing girl into her motherly embrace before raising her to her feet and guiding her from the room. Treville glanced once more at the bed where his best soldier lay and sighed heavily, running a hand over his face before following the women from the room.

Anna had managed to get Eleanor back into bed by the time Treville reached her room and was pulling the covers gently over her. Anna fussed for a moment, ensuring that the girl was settled to her liking. As Treville entered she glanced at him and he hesitated, not wanting to cause further distress to his daughter. After a moment, the housekeeper nodded and straightened, stepping quietly around the bed and towards the door. She paused in the doorway and spoke quietly.

“Try not to keep her too long; she is exhausted in mind and body.” Treville nodded and placed a hand on Anna’s arm, squeezing gently to show his gratitude for the care she bestowed upon his daughter. The old housekeeper rested her hand on his for a moment, and then quietly slipped from the room.

Treville stepped forward and sat in the chair beside the bed, moving carefully so as not to make too much noise. Eleanor lay on her side, her eyes open and glassy, and her expression blank. Treville sighed; he had seen this look before, on soldiers after they had been brought home from terrible battles. He had seen it on Aramis’ face after the slaughter in Savoy and he had no wish to see it on his men, let alone his daughter. Despite Anna warning him not to keep Eleanor for too long, Treville knew he must talk to her and try to bring her out of this state. He spotted the hand that Athos had gripped lying on the covers and gently reached for it.

“Let’s have a look at that hand then.” Gently he took hold of her wrist and drew her hand towards him. Her breath shuddered a little as his skin touched hers, but she did not resist as he began to examine her hand. Carefully he flexed each of her fingers in turn, ensuring they moved without trouble; satisfied with that he turned his attention to the back of her hand. The skin was red, pale blue bruising beginning to form where Athos’ fingers had dug into her soft flesh. “You’ll have to tell me what happened eventually.”

Treville was not expecting an immediate response and instead, ran his fingers along her hand, feeling the fine bones and dreading that he might feel one shift where it should not. Eleanor winced a little but did not show any other indication of pain. Once Treville was satisfied that she had not sustained a serious injury he carefully placed her hand back upon the covers and sat watching her, his elbows resting on his knees. He watched as her jaw clenched and unclenched and her breath shuddered, her thoughts flicking behind her eyes. After a moment more she pulled in a breath, almost as though gathering her courage.

“They took us from the street...one ripped my cloak off and held a pistol to my neck...there was nothing Athos could do.” Her voice was halting as she relayed their misfortune to her father. She told him of the house and how they had been locked in the damp cellar, of Athos tying his scarf at the window, and of the men who had delivered the first vicious beating. When she came to tell him of those who had commanded their capture, she shuddered, her eyes closing briefly.

‘He was cold, but she was...cruel; she relished our pain and the thought of yours. She called him ‘brother’ and asked what he had brought her, almost as though we were a gift. Then they left us with the other man...the same one who attacked me in the market. He whipped Athos...I could hear the hiss of the whip each time, then he stopped and said that it wasn’t enough, that we had to suffer more because _she_ demanded it. He came to me then.” Eleanor’s hand reached up, her fingers brushing her throat and her breath shuddering as her memory held her in its grasp for a moment. “He said he would ask if he could...later. Then he whipped me too.” Her voice trailed off and she gripped the cover on the bed. Treville reached out and took her hand once more, and she clasped his fingers tightly in her own, taking comfort from his touch and presence.

“We will find them, I promise you.”

“How? You haven’t yet.” There was no scorn in her voice, just weariness and sadness that cut Treville like a knife.

“I don’t know, but I won’t stop hunting them.” She nodded and lay still, her blind eyes flicking back and forth as they almost never did, showing her restlessness. Treville wondered just how he could settle her; she was not nervous, so reassurance would not work. Instead he suspected her mind was still flashing back to what had happened to her. A saviour came in the form of Aramis, knocking gently at the still open door.

“I thought Madame Ardoin might be struggling to rest,” his voice was soft and Treville saw he held a book in his hands. As he held it up, the Captain saw the embossed title; _L’Astrée._ “We hadn’t finished it yet, and I thought this might be the perfect time to continue.” Aramis stayed in the doorway, his eyes fixed on his commander, waiting for permission to enter the room. After a moment Treville nodded and the sharpshooter stepped forwards.

“By all means, you’re welcome to try; it certainly can’t hurt.” He turned back to Eleanor and spoke, keeping his voice low. “Aramis is going to read to you; I won’t be far away.” Carefully he slipped his fingers from her grasp and made his way from the room, nodding gratefully to Aramis as he passed him.

Over the next few days Treville doubled his efforts to find any clue that might lead him to anyone involved in the attack on Athos and Eleanor. He sent his musketeers running through the city like hounds to question anyone they could find. They went eagerly, keen to find those who had hurt Eleanor and Athos. Almost all of the regiment had become fond of Eleanor, and those not acquainted closely with her hunted out of loyalty to their Captain and brother. Aramis, d’Artagnan and Porthos did not hunt through the city. Instead, Treville ordered them to remain at his house to guard Athos and Eleanor. Athos had not yet woken properly for Aramis had continued to give him the poppy syrup; stating that it would give the terrible wounds across his back time to heal.

Evening had long fallen when Treville made his way from the palace, bone weary from dealing with the King. He entered the dining room, nodding wearily to Aramis and Porthos where they sat at the table, and gratefully accepted the cup of wine that Anna pushed into his hands.

“How are they?” The question was instant and direct as it had been every evening and the two musketeers exchanged brief glances.

“Captain shouldn’t you rest-” Aramis began.

“I will rest properly again once my daughter is safe and my musketeer healed.” Treville’s tone was fierce and his glare did the rest to silence Aramis. “Now, how are they?” Aramis sighed but did not argue the point.

“There’s no real change to either of them; he’s still sleeping and she’s still quiet.” Treville sighed and nodded, draining his cup, and setting it down on the table.

“Where is she?” He knew the answer before Porthos spoke; it was in the way they had glanced at each other.

“His room.” Once again, Treville sighed before making his way across the room and heading for the stairs.

Quietly, Treville made his way up the stairs and paused outside Athos’ room. The door had been left slightly ajar and he looked through the gap. Eleanor sat in semidarkness, only the glow from the lamp in the hallway faintly illuminating her. Her back was straight, but her head was inclined towards the bed, her hair falling across the graceful arc of her neck and sweeping across her shoulder. A fine curtain of fiery hair had fallen across her face, shadowing her features. One hand was stretched out, resting on top of Athos’ where it lay beside the bolster.

“Here again?” Treville took a lamp from the wall and stepped into the room as he spoke. He placed the lamp on a table and moved carefully around the bed so that he could see her face a little better.

“If I’m here then I can hear him breathing, I can touch his skin and know that he still lives,” her voice was controlled, but Treville fancied he could hear a slight tremble to it.

“Do you not know he lives if you’re not here? Aramis says he’s healing well.”

He saw her hand tighten over Athos’ for just a moment and she shook her head. Her expression of distant calm faltered for the briefest second before she pulled it back into place.

“If I can hear him breathing then it drowns out the other sounds in my head; the sounds of the whip and the blows and their laughter…” She shook her head as though in irritation. “If I can hear that he lives then I know I’m not yet to blame for his death.”

“Eleanor, you’re not to blame for this…” Treville shook his head, although he knew she could not see.

“But I am,” she had almost shouted as her composure broke and tears spilled down her cheeks. “If I had never come to Paris, if I had not insisted on being allowed to go out, none of this would have happened and he…he would not be laying here…” Her voice cracked and she broke down, her shoulders shaking with sobs. Treville stood, hesitating for a moment, not quite sure what to say. Finally, he drew in a deep breath and stepped towards her.

“No, he might not, instead I would have been sent a letter telling me to make arrangements for my daughters’ funeral.” Her sobs slowed as she drew in a ragged breath, her face uncertain.

“What do you mean?”

“These people, if we can call them that, are hunting you, and I doubt it’s just because you’re in the city. They want you dead and they would have found you in the country, alone and with none of my musketeers to protect you.” He knelt beside her chair and took her shoulders in his hands. “You would have been killed and I would have buried you.”

“But Athos-”

“Athos has been injured in the line of duty. It’s happened before and it will happen again. He knows the risks of his career and he does his duty willingly and not just because of his loyalty to me, not anymore anyway.” She smiled faintly at this and gave a faint hiccup that might have been an attempt at a laugh. “You are not to blame for this my dearest girl, and when he wakes, he will tell you the same thing.”

Treville gazed at Eleanor’s face as she took in his words. After a moment she nodded and a few fresh tears spilled down her cheeks. Whether from her relief at his words or all the misery she had suffered he wasn’t sure and did not think it right to ask; instead he pulled her towards him and held her as she cried.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There we go, we've now reached where I got to on FF.net. It's all uncharted territory from here darlings, see you at the weekend xx


	19. Chapter 19

It was another week before Aramis felt that it was safe to stop giving Athos the poppy syrup. The wounds on his back had started to heal, the bruises beneath them slowly turning from vivid blue and purple to sickly yellows. The medic reduced the doses of syrup slowly, not wanting to shock his friend back to consciousness and put more strain on his already tortured body. After the last dose of poppy syrup, Aramis stayed close to his friend, wanting to be there to check on him as soon as he started to wake.

It was late evening before Athos stirred; everyone else had gone to bed and the house was silent. Only Aramis, his eyes itching with tiredness, still stayed awake to watch over his friend. He sat up as he heard Athos’ breathing hitch and saw that his face no longer held the peaceful expression of sleep.

“Athos?” Aramis did not want to touch his friend, fearing an outburst of the kind that Eleanor had experienced. He wasn’t concerned for his own safety, although it would not be the first time he had been punched waking a friend, however he feared for the stitches and fragile skin on Athos’ back. Athos moaned as he shifted slightly, his hand gripping the bedsheet beside the bolster. “Athos?” Aramis leant closer to the bed and was relieved to see a sliver of blue appear from beneath one eyelid.

“I heard you the first time.” His voice was cracked from lack of use, but Aramis could detect the familiar notes of exasperation and breathed a sigh of relief as his friends’ eyes opened fully, blinking owlishly in the dim lamplight.

“How are you feeling?” Aramis peered into the blue eyes, they were focused and not clouded, which was about the best that could be hoped for under the circumstances.

“Rather like I’ve been beaten and flogged for no good reason.” The response was dry, and Aramis chuckled as he reached for a cup of water beside the bed.

“Well that’s no surprise. Here, drink this.” He held the cup to Athos’ lips and supported it as he drank eagerly. When Athos had finished, Aramis set the empty cup down and turned back to his friend. “Do you think you could sit up?”

“Probably.” Aramis nodded and pulled back the covers. He could see Athos bracing himself for pain that he knew would come and hoped he could spare him some of it if he was allowed to help.

As Athos shifted his arms to push himself up off the bed, Aramis hurried forwards, reaching out to take some of his weight. Athos glared at him and made as though to shrug him away.

“This is not the time for stubbornness, my friend. I have some very delicate needlework on your back, possibly the finest I’ve ever done, don’t ruin it.”

He got a grunt in response, but Athos allowed him to help him off of his front and into a sitting position. As they shifted carefully, Aramis detected small hitches and winces in his friend and knew that Athos was trying to conceal the amount of pain he was in. He sighed at the elder musketeers’ stubborn nature and was relieved when Athos was at last sat on the edge of the bed. Carefully Aramis knelt on the mattress behind him and began to inspect his back, ensuring that none of the wounds had re-opened. Just as he was replacing the last of the dressings, Athos spoke.

“How bad is it?” Aramis had an inkling that there was something else Athos wanted to ask, but he would let him ask in his own time.

“You’ll have some new scars to add to your collection, but we won’t be able to see if there’s lasting damage until all the whip marks are healed. If you behave yourself, that will be a few weeks. You’ve also cracked a couple of ribs so those will take some time too. Hopefully, you’ll be fine and fit soon enough if you rest.” He moved back to the chair beside the bed, watching Athos from the corner of his eye. He could see him wrestling with another question.

“How is Eleanor?” Ah, there it was.

“She’s got some cuts and bruises, she’s healing well. Physically anyway.”

“What do you mean?”

“At first, she spent all her time in here, she needed to know you were still alive. Now she’s withdrawn into herself, she paces or sits in the study in the rocking chair. I would say she was just gazing out of the window, but we know that’s not possible. She won’t spin, or be read to, or dance, or any of the other things that used to make her smile.” Aramis paused, watching Athos as he absorbed the information. At last he spoke.

“It’s not a surprise she has withdrawn. Her protectors failed her…I failed her.”

“You two are as bad as each other.” Athos glanced up in surprise at the sharp tone, and Aramis ploughed on. “Eleanor has been blaming herself and you’re blaming yourself. I suppose we can only be grateful you’re not blaming each other.”

“Why would she blame herself? It’s not her fault.”

“That doesn’t matter, you can talk to her yourself and find out.”

“It’s best if I don’t.” Athos was surprised when Aramis’ face hardened.

“Oh no you don’t, you are going to talk to her. She needs you, Athos, don’t you see that?” At the blank look he received, Aramis sighed. “Something like this, we’ve been through it before, we know how it works and what happens afterwards, the memories, the drinking. But she doesn’t. Something has happened to her before, I’ve seen the scars on her ribs and back, but not like this, not being abducted and beaten and hearing you being beaten too. It’s scared her and she needs reassurance and as you’re the one she went through it with, you’re the one who needs to reassure her. That’s also part of your…other role in her life in case you hadn’t figured that one out.”

Aramis folded his arms and stared at Athos, waiting for the arguments and anger he was sure would come. Athos stared at him for a moment, a myriad of expressions crossing his face as he tried to form a response. After a few moments he spoke.

“Believe it or not, Aramis, I don’t need your help in that area.”

“Well I’m glad, I’ve already had to explain women to d’Artagnan, explaining them to you would be a step too far.” He smiled and was relieved when Athos smiled back, the tension broken. Suddenly his relief and exhaustion washed over him, and he rubbed a hand over his eyes. “I need sleep, and you still need to rest.”

“Wine would be preferable.” Aramis looked sharply up and sighed, Athos was back and there was no question about it.

“You need rest, or you’ll never heal.”

“Wine first, then I’ll rest.” Athos fixed him with an unwavering gaze and Aramis knew that there was no point in arguing this time.

“Fine.” He threw up his hands in defeat. “I’ll bring you some wine, then you rest.” He turned and left the room.

As Aramis made his way up the stairs, carefully holding the promised glass of wine, he paused on the top step. From Eleanor’s room along the hallway, he could hear footsteps, soft and steady. He tilted his head, listening carefully; the footsteps moved back and forth across the room and he did not need to look to know that she was pacing again. He sighed, he would not tell her that Athos was awake tonight, that could wait until the morning. He did not think Athos had the strength just yet for that particular conversation.

When he entered Athos’ room, the Spaniard was met with a raised eyebrow as his friend saw what he carried.

“You could at least have brought the bottle.”

“Athos be sensible; you’ve just woken up after being unconscious for over a week, now is not the time to be drinking a whole bottle of wine.” He handed the glass to Athos and sat in the chair once more as his friend drank without complaint, thankful that no further arguments had been forthcoming, he simply did not have the energy. When Athos had finished the wine, Aramis helped him to lay back down, careful not to aggravate the injuries to his back. “Goodnight, my friend, it’s good to have you back.”

“You’re not going to get rid of me that easily.” Aramis chuckled and slipped from the room, heading gratefully towards his bed.

In the darkness of his own room, Athos lay still, taking careful stock of his body. His back ached, and if he moved he could feel the pulling of the fine stitches that held the worst of his wounds together. He could feel the fading pressure of the bruises and tried to take shallow breaths so as not to aggravate his cracked ribs. His muscles felt stiff, both from the trauma they had received and lack of use. He would heal, he knew it. There would be a seemingly endless period of recovery, of waiting for wounds to finish healing and bruises to fade completely, of stretching out and recovering the movement of muscles. But that would pass.

An image flashed through his mind of Eleanor, tied to the ceiling by her wrists, the monster with his rough hands on her smooth skin and his fingers around her throat. The threats that man had made against her echoed in Athos’ mind as he remembered the lust in the pale eyes. He saw again the terror on Eleanor’s face and heard her cries as the whip had hissed over her back. The pain of watching her suffer was one that would never heal.

Physical pain brought him out of his vision, and he realised his muscles had clenched in rage, aggravating his ribs. He gripped the covers beside the bolster and allowed the pain, both physical and mental to wash over him. _I deserve this, all of this. I failed her. I cannot be trusted with her safety. If I had not been such a fool…_ Gritting his teeth as this new realisation washed over him, Athos lay still and waited for the morning.

The men scattered as another cup flew across the room, bouncing off the wall and skittering across the floor. They glanced at each other nervously as the woman stalked about the room. Only the boy did not look worried as he leant against a wall in the corner of the room.

“We should have succeeded, it should have worked,” she was furious, each word snapping like a lash.

“Calm yourself, sister, next time we’ll kill her.” The boy watched his sister as she turned towards him, her eyes burning.

“How many next times do these fools need?”

“We could just kill Treville, that girl has more lives than a cat.”

“No-” she flung another cup across the room “-I want him broken, not dead.”

“And you shall have it, sweet sister,” he stepped forwards, taking her shoulders in his hands, “you shall have it.” He looked over at the leader of their men. “Watch the house, find a way to take her again.”

The man nodded, his faded red hair flicking across his face as he turned, motioning to the men to follow him. He was angry that the girl and the musketeer had been rescued; he and his employers had barely escaped with a few of their men. He had so wanted to toy with them further, to draw every sweet moment of agony from them until death was what they longed for. He had particularly been looking forward to watching the musketeers’ face as he enjoyed the girl. He clenched his fist, remembering the feel of that soft, sweet skin, of her frightened breath beneath his palm. As he led his men into the street, he promised himself that next time, he would fully enjoy his time with her.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Goodness, I don't think I've ever had so many comments so quickly as appeared on the previous chapter. So here we go, have another one. Have a good weekend darlings xx

When Aramis made his way down to the dining room the next morning, he found Porthos and d'Artagnan already there tucking into hot loaves of bread and fresh butter. They looked at Aramis as he dropped heavily into a chair, although he had slept, he still felt exhausted. Porthos pushed a platter of bread towards him, fragrant steam still rising from the broken loaves.

"You alright?" He watched as Aramis reached for the bread.

"I was up late, Athos needed watching."

"Is he...?" 

"He's awake."

"Thank God for that." d'Artagnan sat back in his chair in relief but Porthos did not move, his gaze fixed on his best friend. Aramis sat, his long fingers pulling at the steaming bread, but he did not eat, and his dark eyes were downcast.

"What is it?"

"He's...not right." Aramis rolled a piece of bread between his fingers, crushing it into a doughy ball.

"Are his wounds too bad? Is he...?"

"No, it's not his wounds, those are healing as well as we could hope for. He should be physically fine in a few weeks." He threw the now crushed bread onto the table. "It's...he's...well he thinks he failed her."

He heard the other two shift in their seats and glanced up. D’Artagnan’s face showed shocked disbelief at the thought that Athos could have failed in Eleanor’s protection through some fault of his own. Porthos did not look surprised but frowned.

“Ain’t a surprise really.” He sat forward as the other two frowned at him. “She got hurt when she was with him, don’t matter if it was his fault or not, he’s gonna blame himself; it’s what he does.” He shrugged and sat back, and Aramis sighed.

“I suppose you’re right.” He dusted the crumbs from his fingers and rose from his chair. “I should tell Eleanor.”

“You haven’t eaten anything.”

“I’ll eat later; she needs to know.”

“Needs to know what?” All three of the musketeers jumped and turned to face the door. Anna stood there, her hands on her hips and one eyebrow raised.

“I was going to tell Eleanor that Athos has regained consciousness.” A smile broke the stern face of the old housekeeper which fell away as a hitched breath came from the hallway.

Anna turned and Aramis saw a flash of bright hair and the tail of a pale gown rounding the corner back towards the stairs. He sighed deeply and lifted his eyes upwards in frustration, that was not how he would have planned it. Anna turned towards him, raising an eyebrow and Aramis shrugged and sat down heavily. There would probably be a mess to clear up later if Athos decided to be stupid and noble, and he was damned if he wasn’t going to have breakfast first.

Eleanor stumbled up the stairs, almost losing her footing in her hurry. At that moment she wanted nothing more than to hear Athos’ voice and know that what she had heard in the hallway was true. At the top of the stairs she paused, taking a breath. She was eager to talk to him, more eager than she had been for anything in what seemed like an age. But she did not want to alarm or offend him by tripping into his room like a fool. She also could not be sure of the welcome she might receive. Despite what Treville had told her, he might yet blame her for his fresh scars. She stepped forwards, her fingers finding the door and nudging it gently open. All her senses were focused on the room in front of her for any sense as to what she might find.

Athos had woken and had just about managed to manoeuvre himself into a sitting position when the door had opened slowly, almost as though a breeze had shifted it rather than a human hand. Eleanor had stepped into the room, slowly, hesitantly as though uncertain if her presence was wanted.

Athos had to force himself to suppress the horrified exclamation that threatened to escape him when the light from the window fell on Eleanor. Her skin, always fair, was pale, the rose flush of her cheek gone. There were dark shadows under her eyes and her cheeks were hollowed. The fiery fall of hair was dull, as though the fire had been snuffed out.

_Mother of God, what had happened while he slept?_

“Athos?” her voice was a hesitant whisper and she stopped a few steps into the room.

He felt his whole-body tremble at her voice and grasped the bedpost, forcing himself to his feet.

“Eleanor,” his reply came out ragged and he felt as though all the breath had been driven from his body. A wave of dizziness overcame him, and he clutched at the bedpost. “I…I can’t move any further.” He struggled to hold in a gasp of pain and Eleanor moved towards the bed; she came slowly and for a moment he was unsure if she feared or hated him.

Eleanor reached out an unsteady hand, her fingers stretched forwards and Athos reached out, grasping them, watching her face for any sign that she wanted him to release her. He pulled gently, not wanting to frighten her and her breath caught, but she came willingly. Forgetting his restraint, Athos pulled her the rest of the way to close the distance between them. She gave a half sob as she stepped towards him and allowed him to pull her head against his chest. He rested his fingers against the back of her neck and buried his face in her hair. Athos breathed in the scent of her and felt her tremble beneath his hand. He held her for a moment before his legs refused to take his weight any longer and he sat heavily on the bed, barely managing not to drag her down with him.

Eleanor sat beside him, and he pulled her to him once again. Athos had meant to tell her that he could no longer be trusted with her and that she should forget about him, he had meant to stay distant and aloof, ending up alone as he deserved. But God forgive him, he could not. She had stepped into the room and he was lost in her, wanting nothing more than to hold her and be close to her again, to bury himself in the scent and feel of her. He had thought that she might hate him for not protecting her as he should. But he had stretched out his hand and she had come willingly, and he could not turn away from her again if she wanted him still.

“I’m so sorry,” her voice was quiet against his shoulder.

“What for?” A twist of fear gripped him, perhaps she had decided she did not want him after all.

Eleanor pulled away and sat up, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

“For this-” she stood suddenly, her fiery hair swirling about her “-for all of this. If I had done as I was told and stayed inside, you would never have been hurt.” She began to pace back and forth, her fingers trailing along the wall. “If it wasn’t for me you would be unharmed and safe.” Her voice had broken into a sob and the unshed tears had finally spilled over.

“Eleanor stop.” The command in his voice brought her up short, and her pacing ceased. She stood still, tears flowing freely down her pale cheeks. “Come here.” She stepped closer and Athos reached out, grasping her hand once more and pulling her onto the bed beside him. He pulled her head back against his chest as she cried, her hurt and pain wracking her body with sobs. As she cried, Athos stroked her hair, offering what comfort he could. She needed this, needed to let out her pain, and he would wait quietly while she did. Eventually she quieted and he spoke softly, still holding her to him “This is not your doing, you did not ask to be hunted, nor do you deserve anything that was done to you.” He closed his hand over hers and sighed. “If it was anyone’s fault it was mine; I should never have let them take you.”

“You couldn’t stop it, there were too many of them,” her tears had stopped, and her other hand came up to rest on his. “If you had tried then you might have been killed and they would have taken me anyway.”

“I suspect you’re right.” He took her head gently in his hands and carefully wiped away her tears with his thumbs, frowning at the pallor of her skin and the shadows under her eyes. “I would give everything to have spared you what happened, but letting you go through it alone would have been worse.”

“I would have spared you too if I could.” Eleanor pressed her hand to his and turned her head into his palm, pressing her lips against it. “I just wish all of this were over.”

“We’ll find them, I swear we will, and when we do, I will kill them.” Athos pressed a gentle kiss to her head, then pulled away, his gaze searching her face. “How are your injuries?” He wanted to know that she was healing, but also to know what else he had to avenge when the time came.

“Aramis says they’re healing well, I’m not as sore anymore.” Eleanor gave a half shrug, as though the subject of her injuries disinterested her.

“Let me see.”

She did not question him but shifted on the bed, turning away from him. Athos reached out and brushed her hair over her shoulder. She trembled as though fighting the urge to flinch away and his mind flashed back to when her tormentor had done the same. Carefully, he slipped her robe down from her shoulders and watched the neck of her chemise come loose as she released the tie. Slowly, he slid the chemise from her shoulders, baring the fair skin below as it slipped down to reveal her back almost to the waist. Athos’ breath hitched as he saw the marks that marred her skin, the previously smooth alabaster shot through with harsh red lines and bruises that were just fading to pale purples and yellow. The cuts were healing, and Eleanor shook beneath his touch as he ran a finger lightly alongside one, tracing the welt that had been raised across her soft skin.

Athos felt anger twist deep inside him, hot and bubbling. He had known what had been done to her, had witnessed it, heard each crack of the lash and each cry. Seeing the wounds themselves was something else entirely. Eleanor shivered slightly and Athos brought himself back under control; now was not the time to let anger take over him. He took the edge of her chemise and lifted it back up to her shoulders, frowning as he saw how thin she had become. Closing his eyes briefly he settled the chemise carefully over the still tender skin. His hands came to rest on her arms where he knew the skin was unharmed, and he bent his head, resting it against her hair.

“I will kill them for harming you.”

“I hope so,” Eleanor sounded weary, as though she had no tears left to shed. She turned back to him, pulling her robe back up as she did so. “Your wounds?”

“Irritating but healing or so Aramis tells me.”

She let out a soft sigh, almost of relief, her fingers questing forwards and finding the edge of one of the bandages that wrapped across his chest. She trailed her fingers along it, her touch so light he could barely feel it.

“I was so worried, I thought you might never wake, I thought…” She trailed off, her breaths coming shorter and her fingers pulled back, reaching up to tug on her hair.

“What?” Athos brushed a lock of hair away from Eleanor’s face, gazing intently at the anguish he saw there. This was what Aramis had spoken of; the ripples left by what had been a terrible experience. He knew he needed to get her to tell him what she had faltered on, but it must be done cautiously. At the same time, she could not be permitted to keep what she felt hidden, for her mind would become her own worst torment. “Tell me, Eleanor.”

Eleanor stood once more and began to pace again, not the frantic, caged pacing of before, but slow, measured steps. Athos watched quietly, allowing her to gather her thoughts. His back ached, but she needed him, and he would sit here and listen for as long as it took. After a few minutes she took a deep breath.

“When we left the garrison, my father said I had something to tell you.” Her pacing continued, slow and steady as though she used her steps to keep herself grounded. “He asked me to tell you what happened during my marriage to Luc…” She trailed off, tugging at a strand of hair with one hand. “You don’t need all the details, not at the moment. Luc was cruel; when I told you that he wanted me under his control, I meant by any means necessary. He had a vicious temper and an iron fist which came down on anyone who displeased him. When that awful man said someone had beaten him to it…that I wasn’t a blank canvas…” Her breath shuddered. “He…he killed a boy who tried to defend me, he beat him to death, and I heard every blow. When they beat you, I heard it again; I heard that boy die, and I feared you might follow him. I thought that in trying to defend me you might lose your life just like him.” Her voice had grown quieter as she had uttered the last words and she lapsed into silence, her pacing ceasing at the same time.

“You think the boys’ death was your fault?” Athos fought down his shock and disgust at what she had told him. Horrified silence would have been an appropriate response, but that would not help her.

“Wasn’t it? He died trying to protect me.”

“You are not responsible for the cruelty of the animal you were married to, any more than you are responsible for the ones that have tried to kill you. The boy tried to defend you because he was brave, as I did because it was my duty.”

“Only your duty?” Athos thought he detected a ghost of a smile.

“In the beginning, yes, but now…now I…” He trailed off, unable to find the right words to tell her that she had unlocked something within him, that he was bound to her.

It seemed however, Eleanor did not need him to say it, she stepped closer reaching out her hand as she neared the bed. Athos took it and she moved to stand in front of him, her hands finding his hair and entwining in it, her head ducking down and her lips finding his. He settled his hands on her waist, tasting the salt from her tears as she kissed him deeply, hungrily. Athos could feel the worry and fear of the last weeks in the urgency of it, along with her desperate need to take control of something, anything in her life.

When she broke away, she stayed close, her fingers still in his hair and her head resting against his. Athos felt breathless and almost drained, but he said nothing. He had felt his body burn with the heat from that kiss, felt himself respond to her; if he had not been injured, he would have given himself over to it. As it was, he fought to regain his breath.

“I missed you, I’ve been so afraid and lost,” her voice was soft, her breath warm on his skin.

“It will be alright; I’m with you now.” Athos placed his hands on her face and kissed her once more, gently and softly. The pain in his back reached a peak and he gasped, unable to ignore it any longer.

“I’m sorry, I’ve kept you too long, you should rest.” Eleanor stood straight again, her face full of concern.

“I suspect you’re right. You need rest too; this hasn’t been easy.” He lifted her hand and kissed it. She nodded and squeezed his hand before slipping softly from the room. He watched her go, then listened to her soft steps move away down the hall.

He hoped she would recover in time. Telling him that part of her history had helped, or he thought it had; only time would tell. Carefully he lowered himself back onto the bed, wincing and gasping for breath as he settled onto the covers. He had been sat up for less than hour and had spoken to Eleanor for less than half an hour, but he was exhausted. What Eleanor had told him swirled around his mind, and he knew now that his suspicions about where the scars on her ribs and back had come from had been correct.

One thing was certain; if that bastard who had been married to her was not already dead, Athos would have killed him with pleasure.

Aramis had worked his way steadily through nearly half a loaf of bread, realising just how hungry he actually was once he got down to eating properly. He had, however, kept half an ear out, sure that the sound of shouting and slamming doors was about to echo through the house at any moment. By the lack of conversation and carefully tilted heads, he was certain that Porthos and d’Artagnan were listening for the same thing. He noticed Anna standing in the hallway, her gaze directed towards the stairs. He was certain that she was listening for it too and shuddered at the thought of what she might do to Athos if he upset her charge, throw him out of a window probably. He hoped that Athos would be sensible and pay attention to what he had told him, hoped that he would not decide that he should not be near Eleanor and abandon her.

Aramis had watched Eleanor with increasing concern over the last two weeks; she had eaten little, picking at her food despite Anna’s attempts to make her eat. She had prowled back and forth in the study like a ghost, her face pale and drawn. He had offered to read to her, and she had flinched when he had spoken before asking him to leave her alone. Treville had tried to talk to her, sitting on a stool opposite her as she sat near the window, but she had ignored him, her head turned away as she tugged unceasingly on her hair. She had flinched away when anyone so much as passed her in the hallway and refused to be touched by anyone except Anna, even then moving away as soon as was possible.

Only Porthos had managed to get close to her. Aramis had heard her scream when he had been watching Athos and had run down the hall. He suspected another nightmare but could not ignore her. Aramis had entered the room to find that Porthos had got there first, the big man was sat on the bed beside her, his arms encircling her and holding her to his broad chest as she cried. Aramis had watched for a moment and Porthos had looked at him briefly, his dark eyes troubled. The next morning however, Eleanor had withdrawn again, and Aramis feared for her if Athos could not get her to talk to him.

They had been sitting at the table for what felt like forever but had heard nothing from upstairs. Anna had been moving from room to room, finding small tasks to occupy her although not really concentrating on any of them. Not one of the musketeers had made a sound; each of them listening carefully as they ate and drank. Porthos stood, his chair scraping back and making d’Artagnan jump, the young musketeer looked at his friend, an eyebrow arched.

“Where are you going?”

“Wanna see what’s going on.” Ignoring the alarmed looks on his friends’ faces, the big musketeer moved softly down the hall and paused at the bottom of the stairs, listening intently.

He could hear voices; the tone was calm he thought but he could not hear the words. Porthos was just considering turning back down the hall and leaving them to it when the door of Athos’ room opened. He froze as Eleanor stepped into the hallway. She pulled the door closed softly behind her and turned, one hand trailing along the wall as she made her way to her own room. In the soft light of the hallway Porthos could see that she had been crying; it was nothing unusual now, but it still pained him to see it. He stayed still, barely breathing as Eleanor passed the top of the stairs and if she realised he was there, she showed no sign of it. When he heard the door to her room close, Porthos made his way up the stairs, keeping his treads as soft as he could. He paused outside the door to Athos’ room, listening carefully once more. He could hear laboured breathing and waited only a moment more before pushing the door open.

Athos lay on his front, his jaw tense with pain, and Porthos thought something else besides pain. One eye cracked open as Porthos closed the door and Athos’ face relaxed when he saw who it was.

“Thank God, I thought Aramis was coming to prod and poke me again.”

“Wouldn’t put it past him. How you feeling?”

“Stiff and tired.” Athos winced as he shifted slightly, his eyes half closed and drowsy.

“That ain’t a surprise, you were a mess when we found you.” Porthos sat in the chair, resting his elbows on his knees.

“Oddly enough I’d realised that,” there was a pause, “how did you find us?”

“Treville had the whole regiment out looking for you, got the Court of Miracles involved too. Little girl from the court found your scarf and led us to you.” In his mind Porthos saw Jacquetta’s bare feet on the wet cobbles and felt a twist of sadness for the child. He shook it off and looked up at Athos. “You hungry?”

“Not at the moment; I’ll eat something later or Aramis will start fussing.” Athos’ mouth quirked up in a half smile and Porthos chuckled.

There was a pause as Porthos gazed at his friend, his dark eyes intent as he tried to work out what the reaction would be if he asked what was on his mind.

“I saw Eleanor leaving just now, she alright?” The blue eyes snapped open, all trace of drowsiness gone, Porthos gazed steadily at his friend, waiting quietly. Eventually, Athos sighed.

“Far from it I’m afraid.”

“You haven’t told her to leave you alone have you?” Porthos could not believe his friend could be so stupid.

“No, I haven’t,” Athos snapped, wincing again. He took a breath, glaring at Porthos from the bolster.

“Alright, alright,” Porthos raised his hands to fend off the anger, “Aramis said you felt like you were to blame was all; can make a man do stupid things.” He watched as the flash of irritation faded from Athos’ face and he took another deep breath, wincing again.

“I managed to persuade her to talk to me a little; not much but it’s a start.”

“You reckon she’ll be alright?”

“I hope so.”

“She’s strong, might be enough to see her through.”

“Let us hope she has strength enough for this.” They lapsed into silence again, each thinking on how they might help Eleanor.

“I’ll get you something to eat, guessing you don’t wanna go downstairs yet.” Porthos stood and laid a gentle hand on Athos’ arm. “It’s good to have you back with us.”

“Someone has to keep an eye on you.” Porthos chuckled at his friend’s dry humour and left the room, hoping there might be something of breakfast left.

Rochefort made his way along the hallway of the palace, not looking forward to the conversation he was about to have. He paused for a moment outside the door of the Cardinal’s office, ignoring the glances of the red guards who stood outside.

“What have you to report?” The Cardinal had not looked up from his desk.

“I have just overheard a conversation between Treville and one of his musketeers.”

“Well?”

“It would appear Athos has woken.” Rochefort grimaced as the Cardinal paused in his writing and dropped his quill onto the desk.

“So, these people have failed again.” Richelieu stood, sweeping around the desk. “I was under the impression I had ordered you to ensure they did not.”

“I gave them information, I told them-”

“Well clearly the information was not enough. From what I hear they had Athos and the girl long enough to torture them both yet killing them still proved too difficult a task.” Richelieu sighed in exasperation; he had so wanted this plan to work. It would have been perfect and convenient; Athos’ torture and death would have broken his friends and the girls’ would have broken Treville. “I presume they know the location of Treville’s house?”

“They do.”

“Fine, we’ll give them one more chance, but I doubt they’ll succeed; Captain Treville will guard her more closely than ever now.” He waved a hand dismissively and Rochefort inclined his head before turning and stalking from the room.

Treville visited the house that evening. He had already heard that Athos had woken from d’Artagnan, but paperwork and the King had kept him busy. He strode through streets that were just beginning to empty as the sun set, the people returning to their homes or taverns. As he approached his house, he did not notice the figure in the corner of the square watching him.

“How is he?” Treville had not bothered with greetings as he pulled off his cloak and hat, dropping them on a chair.

“About as well as we could hope.” Aramis was sat at the table cleaning his pistol.

“Grumpy as ever.” Porthos was leant against a wall gazing out of the window.

“Where’s d’Artagnan?”

“Upstairs with Athos.” Aramis looked up from his pistol, his dark eyes curious.

“Do you think Athos is well enough to discuss what happened?” Treville was aware of the recovery time needed for such injuries as those his best soldier had suffered. But he also desperately wanted any answers that Athos could give him.

“He’s well enough to talk for a while, but not too long.”

“Alright, come on then.” Treville noticed his musketeers glance at each other but they did not question him, instead, followed him without a word. As they passed the study, Treville saw Eleanor pacing the bookshelves once more, but he did not pause in his journey through the house.

Athos was sat up once more when Treville led Porthos and Aramis into the room. D’Artagnan twisted round in the chair, watching the Captain as he made his way over to the bed, his eyes fixed on his best soldier. Athos met his gaze, the blue eyes alert and steady.

“How are you?” Treville’s eyes swept over Athos, taking in the bandages and fading bruises. He also watched the way he sat, both hands braced on the bed beside him, and not quite upright, his muscles tense with pain but his breathing steady.

“Healing.” Treville looked at Athos for a moment longer, satisfying himself that this was the truth before nodding.

“What can you tell us?”

Athos shifted slightly, wincing. He closed his eyes for a moment and drew in a deep breath. His Captain and his friends all watched him, waiting for him to speak.

“It’s a brother and sister, he’s barely twenty, she’s a little older.” Athos looked up at Treville. “They’re determined to cause you pain and loss.”

“What about their men?”

“At least ten, well-armed and organised. There is one who is more… professional than the others. Less of a brute, more precise; he’s been a soldier.”

“He’s the one who flogged you?” Treville had picked up the inflection in the description of the man, and Athos nodded.

“They drove us into a trap, came at us from behind. I tried to stop them, to protect her…I…” He trailed off; the ordinarily stoic face anguished. Treville stepped forwards, one hand coming to rest gently on Athos’ shoulder.

“Eleanor told me they put a pistol to her neck, and with ten of them there was nothing you could have done to stop them. If you’d tried, then one or both of you would have been dead in that alley.” Athos’ head had dropped, and his fingers gripped the edge of the bed.

“Even you can’t take on ten men at once, best swordsman or not.” Aramis had shifted from where he leant against the wall. “I told you, my friend, you are not to blame.” The sharpshooter glanced up at Treville as Athos nodded, realising finally that he could not have prevented what happened.

“We’ll carry on looking through the records, there’s got to be a reason for this somewhere. You-” He squeezed Athos’ shoulder “-rest, get well.” He nodded and stepped back as though to leave.

“Forgive me, Captain, what about Eleanor?” They all looked at d’Artagnan as the boy spoke. “How can we help her?”

Treville stood still for a moment, watching the boy, and gathering his thoughts. He had thought of little else over the last weeks. He had seen many soldiers through terrible times and the aftermath of those times. The Captain had heard and soothed nightmares, witnessed heavy drinking and vacant stares. Treville had seen it and he had experienced it; he had helped many a soldier through it, but this was something different.

“Ordinarily I’d say with enough time this would pass as it does with any of you. But you’re right, something needs to be done.” Treville ran a hand over his face. “I’m just not sure what.”

“We can’t just leave her,” said Porthos.

“Certainly not if you don’t want a track worn in the study floor.” D’Artagnan stood, shrugging at Aramis’ raised eyebrow.

Treville sat heavily in the chair that d’Artagnan had vacated, and rested his elbows on his knees, sighing heavily. Aramis jerked his head at Porthos and d’Artagnan, and they slipped from the room, leaving their brother and Captain alone.

Athos sat still, watching the Captain. He shifted as his back ached and fought to keep his breathing steady. He knew Treville would speak eventually; there had been many such silences between them over the years, one waiting while the other gathered his thoughts.

“I don’t know how to help her; she won’t eat, she won’t talk to me,” Treville sighed, “it’s worse than any soldier I’ve seen, even Aramis after Savoy.”

“She needs time; it took Aramis months to be anywhere near normal, and he’s a trained soldier.”

“You’ve seen her?”

Athos glanced up at Treville and nodded.

“She is…not herself.”

“She’s a shadow of herself and you know it, there’s no need to be delicate.” Treville ran a hand over his close-cropped hair. “She’s always been fiery and determined, just like her mother; I never thought anything could stop her. But this…her fire’s gone.”

“Eleanor told me what happened with her husband; what he did to her.” Athos’ eyes were burning brightly as Treville glanced up. “She has survived terrible things before, we will help her survive this.”

“Maybe. If she spoke to you it’s a start, she won’t let the rest of us near her.”

“Yes, d’Artagnan told me she doesn’t want to be touched.” Something in Athos’ voice made Treville look up sharply.

“Did she let you near her?” Athos nodded and Treville sighed. “Well it’s a start, maybe you can bring her back to us.”

“I’ll do what I can.” Treville met the eyes of his most steadfast soldier and nodded his thanks. His eyes caught the slight movement of Athos’ fingers gripping the edge of the mattress, and with a surge of guilt he realised how long he had kept the man talking. The Captain had witnessed many injuries to his men and had seen Athos wounded several times. He knew when he was in pain, no matter how much he tried to hide it.

“Get some rest.” It was evidence of the amount of pain he was in that Athos did not fight the order. Instead he nodded, his breaths no longer quite as steady as they had been.

“Captain.” Treville paused in the act of reaching for the door latch, turning to look back at Athos.

“What is it?”

“I…Eleanor’s suffering is my doing,” anguish filled Athos’ voice once more.

“How so?”

“I refused to…to cry out.” Athos’ fingers twisted into the bed covers. “He hurt her because I wouldn’t…” he trailed off, his head dropping and his shoulders slumping. Treville strode back across the room, dropping back into the chair he laid a hand on Athos’ arm, offering what comfort he could. Athos was ordinarily stoic, unshakable, even in the worst situations; now he looked defeated, his eyes glistening in the light of the candle.

“Athos, listen, from what you and Eleanor have told me there is nothing you could have done to prevent that monster from hurting her. You said they want to cause pain and loss; she was always going to be part of their plan.” He squeezed Athos’ arm, feeling him tremble beneath his hand. “The only guilt here lies with the monsters who did this. Now, get some rest.”

Athos let out a shuddering breath and nodded. Treville left the room, closing the door softly behind him, he moved to the railing at the top of the stairs and leant on it, gazing down into the hall. From the study he could just hear the soft sound of Eleanor’s footsteps moving back and forth; d’Artagnan was right, she would be wearing a track in the floor soon enough. Treville thought on the conversation with Athos, and the revelation that Eleanor had not only spoken to him but had allowed him to touch her. He was relieved that Eleanor was more open with Athos than she had been with any of them over the last weeks. But he also felt a touch of sadness and perhaps even jealousy that he himself had not been able to help her. Still, he resolved, from what he had just seen, Athos clearly cared for Eleanor, and he had given his consent for whatever was between them. If it helped his daughter, then all the more reason to allow it.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of an extra warning for PTSD on this one.

Over the next weeks, Treville sat in his office, accompanied by Aramis, Porthos or d’Artagnan at all times. They pored over records that covered the entire history of the regiment and Treville’s earlier career; reading late into the night, each of them determined to find out why Athos and Eleanor had suffered their ordeal. They spoke little, moving between the garrison and the house as each shift began and ended. To Treville’s relief and slight surprise, they sat in his office for hours without complaint. He knew they were exhausted; his house was no longer the place of respite and calm company it had once been. When they were not in his office they were on high alert, watching for assassins in every shadow.

“What about this one?” Treville looked up as d’Artagnan passed him a roll of papers covered in neat writing. The Captain took the papers and scanned them, d’Artagnan watched as his face turned from a frown to slow realisation. “Captain?”

“This might be…” Treville stood, making the candles flicker. He began to pace, clutching the papers in his hand. “Athos said it was a brother and sister.”

“That’s right,” d’Artagnan watched in growing excitement as Treville brandished the papers. Were they at last on the brink of something?

“This is the one, I’m sure of it-” Treville stopped pacing, glancing at his youngest musketeer, “-you get some rest, it’s too late to tell them tonight.” The boy nodded and stood, making his way onto the balcony and into the cool night air

In his office, Treville sat heavily on his bed, his eyes roving over the papers in his hands once more.

“Of all the people to come back to haunt us, it had to be you.”

Eleanor paced in the study, her fingers running over the familiar spines of the books. She had spent time with Athos earlier that day, but he was now resting. His wounds were healing, and she could talk to him for longer without exhausting him; but he still needed rest. There were some days where she felt easier and others where she could face nothing except the quiet of the study, her thoughts flickering and unfocused. A horse whinnied in the street outside and a man shouted. Eleanor felt her stomach twist. She heard the floorboard by the door of the study creak but did not stop her pacing.

“You need to eat something,” Anna’s voice was full of concern, but Eleanor did not care.

“I’m not hungry.” Outside, the horse whinnied again. The distressed sound cut through her.

“You haven’t eaten all day, child, it’s late.”

_Sweet Mary, could Anna not hear the sounds outside?_

“Please, Anna.” Eleanor could hear the desperation in her own voice.

The sound of a whip reached her ears and she stopped her pacing, pressing herself to the bookshelves. She could feel the wood of the shelves under her fingers and gripped them tightly. She could almost taste the scent of the leather as she pressed her head against the books. She fought to focus on the books. Anything except the terrible sounds from outside. The books. Focus on the books. Solid, grounding, reassuring.

The horse screamed.

“This is too much, child, you need-”

“Please, Anna, leave me alone!” Her voice sounded harsh even to her own ears and she felt a momentary pang of guilt. “Anna I’m sorry.” Her heart felt like it was trying to break free of her chest. Eleanor squeezed her eyes shut, she could not tell Anna how she felt, not now. She needed to be alone.

The whip sounded again.

“It’s alright,” the hurt was clear in the motherly woman’s voice, “I’ll leave you for now, you must have something later.”

Eleanor heard Anna leave and felt her carefully controlled breaths begin to shorten. Her own heartbeat pounded in her ears. But even that was not loud enough to drown out the sounds from outside. She pressed a trembling hand to her mouth to muffle her breaths which were fast turning into shaking sobs, and sank the floor, feeling as though she might never be whole again.

Porthos dropped his jerkin over the back of a chair and glanced up as Aramis made a discontented noise by the window. “What’s the matter with you?”

“Some fool using a whip instead of his head.” Aramis grimaced as he turned to the table. He had just reached up to unbutton his tunic when he paused and shook his head.

“You’re not goin’ out there?” Porthos had seen the thoughts running through his friend’s head as clearly as if they were written in front of him.

“I don’t like thoughtless brutality.”

“Don’t get yourself punched.” Porthos shook his head as Aramis grinned and made his way towards the door.

The big musketeer reached across the table for an apple, tilting his head as he heard Anna leaving the study and making her way towards the dining room. The housekeeper sighed as she untied her apron, and Porthos groaned inwardly as he saw the frown on her face and the tension in her shoulders. An unhappy Anna could not possibly bode well for anyone.

“Are you alright, Madame?” Porthos watched apprehensively as she dropped the apron on the table.

“See if you can get her to eat something.” She fixed the musketeer with her gaze for a moment, and he could see sadness behind her motherly eyes despite the frustration on her face. “Goodnight, Monsieur.” Before Porthos could answer, she had turned and made her way to the door.

Porthos sighed and bit into the apple, determined to eat something himself before he attempted that particular battle. Eleanor was still not herself, and persuading her to eat was particularly difficult. He wandered over to the window, half expecting to see Aramis in a fight with someone outside. Instead he saw his friend making his way back across the small courtyard to the house, a satisfied grin on his face.

Porthos started as a dull _thump_ sounded from the study. Dropping the apple on the table, he scooped up his pistol, his long strides carrying him rapidly towards the study. He was unsure what he would find; it wouldn’t be the first time Eleanor had thrown something in anger or frustration over the last weeks. But he wasn’t going to be the one to tell Treville he had ignored strange sounds in the house.

When Porthos reached the study, he looked around in momentary confusion. He could not see Eleanor immediately and his stomach twisted in alarm. He lifted his pistol, freezing when he heard a muffled sob.

Eleanor sat in the far corner of the room, almost hidden by the desk. She had her back pressed to the wall, her knees drawn up to her chest. Porthos moved carefully across the room, not wanting to startle her. One of her shaking hands was covering her mouth, the other twisting into the fabric of her dress. Tears ran unchecked down her pale cheeks. Porthos moved closer, stepping carefully over the books that had fallen from the shelves. He paused, crouching just in front of her and laying his pistol quietly on the floor.

“Eleanor?” Even at his quiet rumble, Eleanor started, pressing herself further against the bookshelves.

“No! Don’t- Don’t touch me!” Eleanor almost screamed, flinching away as Porthos moved closer, the floorboards creaking. Eleanor’s eyes were wild, her breathing too fast and shallow, her whole body trembling in fear as she shrank away from him.

“I’m not goin’ to hurt you,” Porthos said gently, reaching forward and taking hold of Eleanor’s hand, clasping her fingers firmly. Her breath hitched, fresh fear blanching her face. “Listen to me; you’re safe here, no one can hurt you. Trust me.”

Porthos almost expected her to pull her hand away in panic, but she did not. Instead she relaxed just a little, fresh tears spilling over as she let out a shuddering breath.

“I…”

“It’s alright,” Porthos said, he knelt beside Eleanor and pulled her towards him. She did not resist as he pulled her against his broad chest, wrapping his arms firmly around her. “It’s alright, I’m here.”

“Porthos?” Eleanor’s body trembled in his arms and he could feel her tears against his chest.

“You’re ok, just breathe.”

“It was…I heard…” Her fingers were digging into his arm.

“Shh, it’s alright.” Her breath caught again in a choked sob. “You hear my heartbeat? Just focus on that.” Porthos kept his breaths deep and measured, bringing a hand up to stroke the fiery hair.

Porthos heard footsteps and glanced over his shoulder, meeting Aramis’ concerned eyes as his friend entered the room.

“Porthos, what...?” Aramis’ dark eyes flicked over the room, and he froze, not wanting to startle Eleanor. After a moment he nodded to his friend and turned, slipping silently from the room. Porthos would call for him if he was needed.

Porthos shifted, setting his back against the wall. Eleanor gasped, her grip on his arm tightening, and he grimaced as her nails dug into his skin.

“I’m not goin’ anywhere, come here,” Porthos pulled her to him, wrapping his arms around her. He pressed his fingers through her hair, rubbing small circles against the back of her neck. “We’ll stay here as long as you need.” He felt her press herself into his side, her head against his chest, her free hand twisting into his shirt.

Porthos did not know how long they sat on the floor of the study. But as he had promised, he was content to sit for as long as Eleanor needed. He rested his head back against the wall, watching as the sunset turned the walls to red and gold. In time, Eleanor’s fingers loosened their grip on his arm and her breaths slowed, only the occasional shuddering gasp making her body shake against his. Porthos kept his arms wrapped around her, holding her tighter when she trembled. He felt her cheek pressed against his chest, his heart beating steadily beneath it. He hoped he could at least offer her some sense of safety, and perhaps a step on the road out of the darkness.

Night was creeping into the room when Eleanor finally spoke.

“I’m sorry, Porthos,” her voice was quiet as she pushed herself away from his chest, brushing a hand over her cheeks to scrub away the tears.

“What for?” Porthos frowned, watching as she began to tug at her hair. He did not like where this was going.

“I should have been able to…you shouldn’t need to…” She trailed off, seemingly unable to find the words.

“Hey-” Porthos rose to his knees in front of her “-hey listen to me; you have nothing to be sorry for.” He reached out, placing his hands on her shoulders. “You went through something awful, it’s gonna take time to feel like yourself again.” A tear spilled down her cheek and Porthos brushed it gently away with the backs of his fingers.

“I just…I couldn’t stop it.”

“You wanna’ tell me about it?”

“I heard something outside; a horse, it screamed.” A shudder ran through her. “There was…there was a whip…”

“Oh Jesus, you heard it.” Porthos pulled her to him, wrapping his arms around her once more. He felt a surge of protective anger at both the monsters who had hurt her, and the fool who had been in the square outside.

“Does it ever stop hurting?” She sounded so tired and defeated. Porthos considered carefully before answering.

“No, but you make room for it.” He took her face in his hands, desperate to help her. “It gets better, I promise.” He kissed her hair gently. “Come on,” Porthos rose to one knee, grasping Eleanor’s arms to help her stand, “let’s go.”

“Where are we going?” She allowed him to pull her to her feet, and he began to lead her across the room by the hand.

“You need sleep, you haven’t slept properly in weeks.” He turned as Eleanor stopped.

“I can’t sleep.”

“I’ve got a plan for that.” He tugged gently on her hand, and although she did not look convinced, she followed him meekly from the room.

Athos lay propped on one elbow, thumbing through a book; as hard as he had tried to read it, he could not bring his mind to focus on the pages. He rolled his shoulder back, feeling the newly healed skin pull, and his gaze lighted on the table beside the bed. His jerkin lay there, neatly folded, his hat on top of it. His weapons belt lay alongside them, his sheathed sword carefully placed. His friends had retrieved his weapons and uniform, and he had been overwhelmed by their care for him. Athos frowned and flexed his fingers, wondering when, or if he would be able to use his sword again. He had always been excellent with a sword, his tutor having nothing but praise for him in reports to his father. Treville had seen his talent and had honed him to an even finer edge, pushing him until he became known, rightly so as the best swordsman in the regiment. His stomach twisted at the thought that he might never use a sword properly again, that there might be too much damage.

The door opened, jolting Athos from his thoughts, he looked up to see Porthos stepping into the room. The big musketeer was frowning.

“What is it?” Athos closed the book and fixed Porthos with a steady stare.

“Eleanor needs you.” Porthos’ hand rose to the front of his shirt, absentmindedly touching an area of dampness on his chest. Athos had an awful feeling he knew what had caused it. He pushed himself up off his elbow, wincing.

“What’s happened?”

“She heard someone whipping a horse outside.” Athos looked up sharply, he knew the effect it must have had on her.

“Where is she?” Athos grasped the covers to move them aside but Porthos reached out a hand.

“She’s outside, I’ve calmed her down a bit, but she needs sleep.” Porthos gazed steadily at his friend and he did not need to say anything else. Athos nodded and Porthos turned, stepping back into the hallway.

Athos had just placed the book on the table when Porthos led Eleanor into the room. She looked utterly lost and exhausted, and Athos said nothing as Porthos guided her across the room to sit on the bed before slipping silently from the room and closing the door behind him.

Athos shifted across the bed, reaching out to place a hand gently on her shoulder, she shuddered under his touch but did not flinch away.

“I…I…” Eleanor trailed off, one hand tugging at her hair.

“Shh, it’s alright, come here.” Athos put his arm around her and pulled her too him, lowering them both back against the bolsters. He stroked her hair and kissed her gently. “You’re safe, just rest.” It did not take long before her eyes drifted closed and Athos wrapped his arms around her, inhaling the scent of her hair as he too fell into sleep.

Treville rose before dawn, splashing water on his face to rouse himself. His sleep had been disturbed, memories mixing with fears to create phantoms that flitted through his dreams. He pulled a clean shirt from a chest in the corner and dragged it on as he sat at his desk. Rubbing a hand over aching eyes, he pulled the papers d’Artagnan had unearthed the previous night towards him, reading them for what seemed like the thousandth time. He groped across the desk for a quill, cursing as his hand knocked the inkwell, sending it teetering dangerously. Sighing deeply, Treville gathered his thoughts and dipped the quill into the ink.

The sun was rising, casting pale dawn light into the garrison courtyard as Treville paced the balcony. A young musketeer emerged from one of the garrison rooms, yawning as he ambled over to the table and flopped onto a bench.

“Guillem.” The young musketeer jumped as his name rang out from the balcony, the apple he had picked up dropping back onto the table. He sprang to his feet and eyed Treville warily as the Captain made his way down the stairs, clearly wondering what he had done wrong.

“Sir?”

“Take this letter to Father Aubert in Dreux, bring back his reply as soon as you can.”

“Yes, Sir,” Guillem looked relieved and Treville saw his eyes dart wistfully back to his fallen apple.

“Eat first but be quick.” Treville pushed the letter into the boy’s hands and squeezed his shoulder before turning and stalking back to his office.

Anna made her way quietly through the house, tying on her apron as she surveyed the remains of the previous evenings’ meal on the table. She sighed as she began to tidy up the plates and glasses. Having a house full of musketeers was much like having a house full of adolescents again; they were untidy, endlessly hungry, and untameable. Granted a stern glare or firm word would keep them in check for a moment, but they were back to trouble again the moment they were left unattended. The housekeeper wiped crumbs from the table, wondering if Eleanor had eaten anything last night.

The house was still quiet as Anna went along the hallway, passing Alice as the girl carried fresh loaves of bread to the dining room. She made her way up the stairs and along the hallway to Eleanor’s room, listening carefully at the door. She could hear nothing except one of the musketeers stirring in one of the rooms further down the hall, they would be awake and hungry soon. Anna frowned, she could hear nothing from the room; ordinarily Eleanor was awake, and often already pacing by this time. Carefully she eased the latch on the door and pushed it open, peering into the room. The bed was empty. Anna stepped fully into the room, looking around, her charge was not there. She laid a hand on the sheets; they were cold, the bed had not been slept in.

Anna left the room, her hands on her hips. Where had the girl got to? She turned back up the hallway, an idea striking her. She paused outside Athos’ room, listening again and carefully eased the door open. Eleanor lay on the bed still sleeping, her face more peaceful than Anna had seen it in a long time. Athos had his arms wrapped around her and her fingers twined with his. As Anna looked at them, she noticed Athos shift and his eyes opened slowly, his expression drowsy. He looked at her for a moment and she nodded at him, watching as he tightened the arm draped over Eleanor and pressed his chest closer to her back, his eyes drifting closed again as he settled back into sleep.

As Anna pulled the door of the bedroom closed behind her she caught sight of Porthos making his way down the hall.

“Good morning, Madame.” The big man smiled at her and the housekeeper could not help but smile back. She liked this one, he reminded her of her youngest son; sweet and shy but fierce when riled.

“Good morning, Monsieur.” She saw Porthos’ eyes flick to her hand on the door latch. “They are still sleeping.”

“I took her in there last night, she heard something that upset her.” Porthos frowned, almost as though he was unsure if he had acted correctly.

“Well she’s peaceful now, you did the right thing I think.” Anna laid a motherly hand on his arm, patting it gently.

“Glad it helped her.”

“It helped them both I think, for your friend does not sleep well either.”

Porthos blinked at the housekeeper for a moment, caught off guard at just how observant she was. He should be used to it by now, but she still surprised him sometimes.

“No, you’re right there, he doesn’t.” Anna nodded at the confirmation, although she had not needed it.

“Come along, Monsieur, we will leave them to sleep, there is breakfast downstairs for you.” She pushed gently on his arm, and he turned without objection towards the stairs and the smell of fresh bread.

It was nearing noon when d’Artagnan made his way to the house, the cool hallway seeming dim after the bright sunlight. He could hear voices from the dining room and headed eagerly down the hall, hoping there would be something left to eat.

When he pushed the door to the dining room open, d’Artagnan paused in surprise. Eleanor sat at the table in between Athos and Porthos. Athos caught d’Artagnan’s eye and nodded in greeting. But there was also a warning in that nod, not to say anything about either his, or Eleanor’s presence at the table.

“Good morning,” d’Artagnan dropped into a chair, reaching for the ale jug.

“Is it morning? I thought it was afternoon,” Aramis turned in his chair, peering out of the window.

“Just about,” said d’Artagnan.

He watched out of the corner of his eye as Eleanor picked a grape from the handful she held and slipped it into her mouth. At least she was eating something and not pacing, and d’Artagnan could not help a small smile forming.

“Anythin’ happening we should know about?” Porthos pushed a tray of cheese across the table and d’Artagnan reached for it.

“I went to the palace with the Captain this morning, had to listen to the King go on about the navy he wants,” d’Artagnan sighed and cut himself some cheese.

“The palace does at least have some compensation in the form of a certain lady in waiting though.” Aramis smirked and caught the piece of bread d’Artagnan threw at him.

“The Captain said he’d visit later,” d’Artagnan did not want to mention what might have been found the previous night; he did not know fully what it was and he did not want to raise their hopes should it turn out to be nothing.

They settled to eating, Porthos and Aramis keeping easy, light conversation going. D’Artagnan joined in, watching Athos and Eleanor from the corner of his eye. He was glad to see them both downstairs and at the table. Eleanor ate slowly, but at least seemed to be eating more than she had in a long time. He saw both Athos and Porthos slipping small amounts of bread, meat, cheese, and fruit onto her plate. The Gascon had no doubt that she knew what they were doing, but she seemed content to allow it and to eat what they gave her. She said nothing, but he did see her almost smile at several of Aramis’ quips. Athos ate plenty, his appetite as good as it had ever been. He was sitting more comfortably now, but every so often he rolled his shoulder back, the slightest of discomfort showing behind the carefully schooled neutrality. He too seemed content to allow their conversation to wash over him, the occasional wry smile the only response.

They had not long finished eating when they heard the front door open. A few moments later, Treville stepped into the room, lifting his hat from his head. The Captain too, paused for a moment when he saw Athos and Eleanor sat at the table; but he recovered quickly and took the cup of ale that Anna pushed into his hands as she passed him on her way back to the kitchen. His musketeers watched him silently as he sat down. Eleanor’s head lifted as he sat, and she stood, brushing a hand across Athos’ shoulder as she turned and left the room. Treville let her go, he was not sure if he wanted to tell her just yet.

“We may have news,” Treville pulled a roll of paper from his pocket and d’Artagnan recognised the record he had found. “d’Artagnan found this last night; I’m almost certain it holds the clue to the attacks on Eleanor and Athos.”

Athos reached out a hand and Treville passed him the papers without comment. They watched in silence as Athos read the report, the blue eyes scanning over the pages.

“You arrested a minor noble in Dreux on charges of treason fifteen years ago, why is this one any different to any other arrest you’ve made?” Athos looked over the papers, fixing Treville with a steady gaze.

“That’s seven years before the musketeer regiment even existed,” said Aramis.

“My career as a soldier didn’t start with the musketeers.” Treville shot a brief glare across the table. “This arrest is different because of how wrong it went, and who witnessed it,” he sighed and ran a hand over his hair. “As you see there, it was a minor noble who had been involved in the planning of a failed coup. I was sent with a small group of men to arrest him.” Treville paused, swirling the ale in his cup. “It all seemed to go without issue until the time came to leave for Paris, he attacked me from behind. I wasn’t as experienced as I am now, and I killed him on instinct.”

“If it’s a choice between that or gettin’ killed then you did the right thing.” Porthos frowned at his Captain; the man had killed many men, why should one who had tried to kill him years ago be troubling him?

“It’s not something anyone would blame you for surely?” Aramis had reached across the table and picked up the papers, his dark eyes moving over the pages.

“There’s something else.” Athos’ quiet voice silenced his brothers, he had not shifted his gaze from Treville.

“We had let him say farewell to his wife and two children at the door of the house, they were still standing there when I killed him.” He raised his eyes to meet Athos’ gaze, “his daughter and his son.”

There was silence for a few moments, each musketeer absorbing the information. It was d’Artagnan who managed to speak first.

“You’re certain it’s them?”

“They’re the right age and I knew the family in passing; that girl had a temper to rival the worst of them, even at ten.” He glanced at Athos. “You said there was a soldier with them, what did he look like?”

“Lean, red hair, perhaps around forty.”

“That sounds like a man who was in the pay of the family, I think his name was Marlon.”

“So, what do we do now?” Aramis had leant forward, his elbows on the table.

“I’ve sent Guillem to Dreux with enquiries, if it is Acelynn and Henri then we’ll know in a few days.”

“Will you tell Eleanor?” Athos’ voice was quiet and Treville looked at him sharply, aware that this question did not come from Athos’ position as a musketeer.

“I don’t want to get her hopes up, but I don’t think she’ll forgive me if I wait for Guillem to return.” He sighed and stood up, heading for the study.

His musketeers waited until he had left the room before letting out a collective breath. Aramis and Porthos glanced at each other, each of them had half expected some sort of tension between Athos and Treville, perhaps even a minor confrontation. But thankfully, Treville appeared to be accepting that Athos was more than just a protector to Eleanor.

“Well it’s good to have some insight at last.” Aramis sat back in his chair once more.

“Bout time we got something.” Porthos reached for the ale jug.

“He did nothing wrong, but vengeful children are a terrible thing; to have paid for their fathers’ crime with a loss of innocence and a lifetime of hate.” Aramis shook his head sadly.

D’Artagnan said nothing, lost in his own thoughts. He had been that vengeful son once, hunting down Athos and attempting to kill him because he believed he had all the information. Thankfully, Aramis and Porthos had helped him find the truth and saved the life of the man who had become his friend and mentor. If he had not had their help, he could have been consumed by hatred just as Acelynn and Henri had been. He at least had not been a child. Aramis was right, it was a terrible thing. He could see no wrong in Treville’s actions, had he not done the same when Gaudet had tried to kill him? No, the blame lay with the man under arrest for committing treason, then attempting an attack while his children watched.

Treville paused at the door to the study, Eleanor was sat on the window seat, her back set against the wall and her feet drawn up on the cushions. Her head rested back against the wall, and her face was turned towards the window. Had he not known any better, Treville might have thought she was simply enjoying the shaft of sunlight that played across her features.

“Eleanor?” He stepped into the room, moving slowly towards the window. She had seemed improved today. He had been pleased to see her at the table, but he knew it would be all too easy to send her back into darkness again.

“The way you sat down in there, it felt like you had something important to discuss; I thought I’d leave you to it.” She almost sounded like her old self, but her voice was distant.

“It was important, that’s why I’ve come to tell you too.”

Eleanor listened while he told her what he had told the others. As he spoke, her face became less distant, he could almost see the old spark in her. When he had finished, Treville sat quietly in the rocking chair watching her, waiting for her to speak. She stood and began to pace the wall.

“What will you do?” Her voice was steady and Treville could see a glimpse of her old iron control.

“I need to wait for the reply from Dreux so that I can be certain.”

“And if it is them?”

“Then I’ll know who I’m looking for and I can find them and arrest them.”

“I want them dead.” She had stopped pacing and had turned, her hair flying. Treville looked up sharply, he had never heard so much hatred in her voice. She stepped towards him, her face jaw set, and her face unyielding. When she spoke again, her voice was quiet. “I want them dead, Father; for all they have done, to me, to Athos. Please give me that.”

Treville stood, striding across the room, and taking her shoulders gently in his hands, she did not flinch away.

“The day they first harmed you I swore I would kill them. If I don’t kill them when I find them then they’ll hang, I swear it.”

He pulled her to him, hugging her fiercely and she let him, her fingers twisting into the back of his jerkin. As he hugged her, Treville thought on the vengeance he had sworn and the vengeance that had led to it. He knew there could be a never-ending circle of violence and hatred if one was not careful, but he was determined to bring this to an end. He just hoped that this would bring Eleanor some peace.

Athos strode down the hall, briefly glimpsing Eleanor engulfed in Treville’s arms as he passed the study. He made his way up the stairs, slipping into his room and closing the door softly behind him. He stood still, staring at his sword where it lay on the table, his fist clenched. Slowly, hesitantly, he reached out, brushing the tips of his fingers along the length of the blade. Carefully he closed his hand over the hilt and pulled the sword smoothly from the scabbard, feeling a familiar thrill as he flicked the blade up through the air. Athos turned, stretching his arm out, gritting his teeth as he felt his muscles protest. He shifted his foot, lunging forward and grunted as his leg collapsed beneath him, the sword clattering across the floor. He growled in anger and frustration, slamming his fist against the floor.

The door opened and Athos did not look up as Aramis crouched down a few feet away from him; he could not stand for his friend to see him weak and on his knees.

“Leave me, Aramis.”

“I didn’t leave you when you were wounded, I won’t leave you now, my friend.” Aramis remained where he was, immune to the glare that Athos directed at him. He waited quietly, knowing that Athos would see sense eventually.

As he waited, Aramis watched Athos from the corner of his eye. He could see a sheen of sweat on his friends’ face, and his breaths were short, from pain or frustration, Aramis was not sure. Eventually, Athos sat back, leaning against the wall, one fist clenched on the floor beside him.

“How can I be of any use to the musketeers, to Eleanor if I cannot even hold a sword?”

“You’ve been wounded and inactive for nearly a month; did you really think you could return to your normal form immediately?” Athos said nothing, but rested his head back against the wall, his eyes finally meeting Aramis’ gaze. “It will take time, brother.”

“I cannot protect her like this.”

“Then we start training and we’ll soon have you back to full strength again,” Aramis stood and reached for Athos’ arm, hauling him to his feet. “Just remember, she does not only rely on the protection of your sword.” The medic kept a steadying hand on Athos’ shoulder and guided him towards the bed. He could feel the muscles trembling under his hand and sighed; he had always known that his friend would push too far and too fast. “Get some rest, she’ll need you later after today’s news.”

Aramis was relieved when Athos did not object, and squeezed his shoulder before slipping soft footed from the room.


	22. Chapter 22

Treville was stood on the balcony watching some of the regiment train when Guillem clattered into the courtyard and almost threw himself from his horse. Jaques hurried forward to take the reins and lead the animal to the stable, while Guillem hurried up the stairs.

“The reply, Captain.” The boy held out a letter and Treville took it, looking him up and down with a raised eyebrow.

“You got back quickly, I wasn’t expecting you until at least tomorrow, it’s a two-day ride to Dreux.”

“Father Aubert was able to see me immediately, he wasted no time in writing his reply.” Guillem’s shoulders were slumped, and there were dark shadows under his eyes, his clothes were covered in dust from the road.

“Well done, get some rest today.”

“Thank you, Sir,” Guillem nodded and turned, eager for food and sleep.

Treville closed his office door firmly behind him, breaking the seal on the letter as he strode to his desk. He sat heavily in his chair and began to read.

_Captain Treville_

_You write asking for information on the fate of the two Gauthier children and I will tell all I can remember._

_The children and Madame Gauthier lived under the grace of the church for a year after Monsieur Gauthier’s treason resulted in his estates being forfeit to the Crown, for the family had been generous in the past._

_When Madame Gauthier passed from a fever, we were able to place the children with a nearby family and I was employed to continue the education of the boy, it was hoped he might join the church later._

_It was three years after the demise of their father that a man came and took both children from the household. He gave little explanation and the children went with him without question. From my own enquiries, I found his name to be Marlon, a former soldier in the household of Monsieur Gauthier._

_I do not know what happened to the children after they were taken, for they disappeared from Dreux seemingly without trace. I will only say this, Captain, those children held great anger within them which I could not ease for all my efforts and I fear for them and all who cross their paths if that soldier had the raising of them into adulthood._

_I am sorry I can tell you nothing more of them and pray that you find the answers you seek._

_Father Aubert_

“Christ.”

Treville set the letter down and sat back in his chair, turning what he had just read over in his mind. He ran a hand over his eyes. He had never meant for this to happen, never dreamed that the events of what was supposed to be a simple arrest would echo down the years. He thought back over the dates in his mind, good God, the girl was a few years younger than Eleanor. He could not imagine his daughter going through what he had unwittingly put Acelynn through. He thought of Eleanor demanding her vengeance, and wondered would she have become what Acelynn and Henri had become? No, the two were not the same, while Eleanor had a temper to rival even his, her deepest nature was kind. Acelynn had never been a kind or gentle child, she had been cold even as a girl. The boy had been a sweet soul though, what had she twisted him into?

Shaking himself from his reverie, Treville stood. Snatching the letter from the desk, he left for the house to tell his inseparables and his daughter that he at last was sure who had attacked them.

Over the next weeks, Athos began to train with his brothers, spurred on by the confirmation of who their enemy was. To begin with, he would not train at the garrison, not wanting the rest of the regiment to see how weak he had become. Anna reluctantly allowed them to train in the dining room, with dire threats to their future existence should they break anything. Athos worked and stretched his muscles, cursing the need to re-train them and the loss of his strength and speed. Aramis watched him carefully, stepping in at first if Athos pushed himself too far, and gently brushing away the frustrated anger that was sometimes directed at him. Eleanor preferred to stay out of the way while they were training. She did not much care for the noise, and with her usual astuteness, had sensed that Athos did not always want her to know if he struggled or fell.

As Athos grew stronger, he was happier to train at the garrison, where they had more space and did not have to fear Anna’s wrath. He would spend the day re-honing his skills with one of his brothers, and even on occasion, Treville. The Captain may have been past his prime, but he was still a prodigious swordsman and could easily push his best soldier further in his training, leaving Athos shaking and sweating with exertion.

Each day before he left the house, Eleanor would brush her lips softly against his cheek and speak softly. “Be safe,” were always her words. Athos did not know why, but those words gave him the extra strength he needed to push himself beyond his previous limits.

Porthos ambled into the dining room, undoing his jerkin, and dropping it over a chair as he greeted d’Artagnan.

“Where’s Eleanor?”

“Upstairs I think, Anna said something about a new dress.” D’Artagnan had stood and was pulling on his own jerkin. “Did you find anything?”

“Not yet; can’t find anyone who’s even heard of Marlon, never mind seen him.”

“How can someone plot to kill a woman, capture her and a musketeer from the streets, torture them and then just vanish?” The boy was incredulous and, Porthos thought, rightly so.

“Dunno but they’ve managed it.”

“Well don’t tell Eleanor.”

“She alright?” Porthos looked up in alarm.

“She’s in a relatively good mood today, that news will only spoil it,” d’Artagnan had finished slinging his weapons from his belt and headed for the door.

Porthos sat at the table, picking at a bit of roasted grouse without really tasting it. He had trawled through every contact he had in the city, and not one of them had heard anything. It was frustrating to have an invisible enemy, even more so to not be able to help his friends.

He looked up as soft footfalls sounded on the stairs and glimpsed Eleanor down the hall as she slipped into the study. He stood, wiping his hands, he thought he probably ought to greet her and at least let her know her guard had changed. He also wanted to check for himself that she was alright. Her state of mind had improved greatly over the last few weeks, she paced less and on occasion almost seemed like her old self. But there was still an underlying current of sadness and distance to her at times. Her smiles were not quite as bright, her silences not as serene. Porthos could not blame her, nor would he chide her for her melancholy, but it saddened him to see it.

When Porthos reached the study, Eleanor was sat on the window seat, her back against the wall and her bare feet on the seat. Her face was turned into the sunlight, the rays playing delicately over her hair and skin. A book rested on her knees, her fingers brushing lovingly over the embossed cover. She looked beautiful and content, and Porthos turned, not wanting to disturb her moment of rare peace.

“Porthos?” Her voice was soft, and he barely heard it.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to disturb you.” He stepped into the room and a small smile played across her features.

“You’re never a disturbance.”

“Not sure the Captain would agree.” Porthos smiled as she laughed softly.

“Will you sit with me, Porthos?”

“If you want the company.” Eleanor smiled and drew her feet up, allowing Porthos space to sit on the large window seat. He settled his back against the wall opposite her, watching as she turned her face back to the sun. “I can see why you sat here, it’s a good seat.”

“I like it here, I can feel the sun on my face, even if I can’t go outside.”

Porthos watched as the late afternoon rays played over her face. She had been eating more over the last weeks, and her cheeks had filled out once more, the delicate rose blush returning. Her hair once more rippled and shone, life seemingly returned to the long tresses. Porthos had hated to see her pale and thin, and was pleased to see any improvement in her demeanour.

“Least you’re safe here, only safer place would be the garrison or the palace.”

“A choice between being surrounded by clashing swords, or a gilded cage with the most irritating of occupants?” Eleanor shuddered. “No thank you.” She was so like her old self that Porthos could not help but chuckle, and he watched as she went quiet for a moment. “At least here I have pleasant company and my books, even if it is much quieter now there’s only one of you here at a time.” She hugged the book she held to her chest.

“I’ve never really read books, definitely not good at reading out loud like Aramis.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t make you read to me. But please feel free to borrow any of the books here if you would like to read them for yourself.” She smiled softly, and Porthos realised this was one of the reasons he liked her so much. She had never shown any of the judgment or scorn that he had experienced from others for his lack of a traditional education, accepting him for who he was without question.

Eleanor lifted her head, and a moment later Porthos heard footsteps in the hall and Anna’s mothering tone. A faint smile played over Eleanor’s features, and Porthos guessed who the footsteps belonged to. He was proved right when Athos appeared at the study door.

“How was training?” Porthos grinned as Athos leant heavily against the door frame.

“Treville is still a fine swordsman.”

“Thrashed you, did he?” Porthos chuckled as Athos levelled an unimpressed stare at him.

Anna bustled into the room, looking Athos up and down as she wiped her hands on her apron. “I was going to tell you that your bath is ready, Eleanor, but I think it may suit this one better to make use of it.”

“You may be right, Anna, I don’t mind, I’ll have one tomorrow.” Eleanor smiled and settled herself more comfortably on the window seat.

“Come, Monsieur, the bath is ready upstairs.” The housekeeper bustled out of the room, raising an eyebrow at Athos as she left as though daring him to object.

“I suppose there’s no point in arguing,” Athos gave a sardonic smile as he looked back at Porthos and Eleanor.

“Wouldn’t recommend it,” Porthos shook his head.

“It is easier if you don’t,” Eleanor was smiling. “I wouldn’t put it past Anna to just tip you into the bath if you argue with her.”

“A valid point.” Athos inclined his head and turned for the stairs. He was suddenly very aware of his aching muscles, and, for once, was grateful for the housekeeper and her unnerving observational skills.

When Athos had gone, Porthos shook his head, smiling. “He’s more stubborn than a mule.” He watched Eleanor as she shifted, swinging her feet from the seat and stretching her legs out, her skirts brushing the floor softly.

“Is he alright?” A brief look of curious concern played over her features.

“He’s stiff and sore, not a surprise with how hard he’s been training.”

“A good thing that Anna is more than a match for stubborn then.”

Porthos’ reply was cut off by a clattering from the hallway, and he saw several dishes go rolling past the door followed by Alice as she rushed to pick them up. He heard Eleanor’s breath catch and her arm flashed out towards him. Her hand found him, and she lay her palm flat against his chest, her fingers spread over his heart. Porthos stayed perfectly still, allowing her to regain her sense of calm. After a moment, Eleanor withdrew her hand, her fingers curling inward, she looked embarrassed and a little fearful.

“I’m sorry, Porthos, I forgot myself,” her voice was quiet, but her breaths were steady.

“Did it help?” He watched her carefully as she paused in thought.

“Yes, it did; your heartbeat is a comforting thing.”

“Then don’t apologise; if it helps then you do what you need to do. I’ve seen worse ways of coping.”

At his words, Eleanor let her breath out and Porthos thought she looked like she might cry.

“You’re a kind man, Porthos.” She reached out again, this time grasping his arm and squeezing it gently.

“Only to people I like.”

“I’ll bear that in mind.” His words had had the desired effect and she let out a soft laugh. Eleanor stood, her hair rippling down her back like a fall of autumn leaves. “Thank you, Porthos.” She smiled and slipped soft footed from the room, seeming to glide rather than walk.

Porthos heard her light tread on the stairs and smiled as he realised her likely destination. He spotted her book which had fallen to the floor when she had been startled and reached to pick it up, looking at the embossed title picked out in gold leaf; _L’Astrée_. Porthos shrugged, there was no time like the present after all. Settling back onto the window seat, he opened the book and began to read.

Eleanor paused as she reached the top of the stairs, her hand resting on the balcony railing. She tilted her head, listening carefully, she could hear Anna in the kitchen, berating Alice for her clumsiness. When she was satisfied that she was not being observed, Eleanor continued along the hall. Anna had decided that a room would be set aside for the bath to remain in so that she and Alice did not have to haul it up the stairs every time it was required; it was to this room that Eleanor made her way, bare feet light on the floorboards.

She pushed the door open and heard water lapping as Athos shifted in the bath. Eleanor paused in the doorway, feeling the warm, damp air on her face.

“Do you mind me disturbing your bath?”

“Not at all,” his reply was languid, and Eleanor could hear the lazy smile in his voice. She smiled and closed the door, dropping the latch firmly into place.

Eleanor counted her steps under her breath as she walked across the room, “One, two, three, four, five,” she reached out her fingers, there was the edge of the large copper bath. She knew Anna kept a small stool beside the bath for when the housekeeper washed her hair and felt around with her foot, ah, there it was, just at the head of the bath. Eleanor held the edge of the bath as she settled herself on the low stool, her fingertips brushing Athos’ skin as she did so. He had not moved again as she sat, and she knew he would not until she had settled so as to avoid crushing her fingers.

When she was safely sat down, she reached out, fingers questing forwards until she found Athos’ shoulder. Slowly she reached forward and trailed down his arm, finding his hand and taking it gently. She smiled as he closed her hand in his own and lifted it, gently kissing the backs of her fingers.

“How are you feeling?” Eleanor said.

She shifted forwards as Athos lifted his lips from her fingers but did not release them, keeping her arm draped over his shoulder as he toyed gently with her hand. She leant the other arm against the edge of the bath, content to let him keep hold of her.

“Tired and sore; your father still trains hard.” She felt him wince as he rolled his shoulder back; his right shoulder had taken the deepest cut from the whip and the skin was still tight over the scar.

“So, a bath was not an altogether bad idea then?” Eleanor felt her mood lift as she teased him gently for his stubbornness.

“No, I suppose not.” Athos ran his thumb in gentle circles over her palm and she closed her fingers as it tickled.

“Here, let me see if I can help a little.” Eleanor pulled her hand from his grasp and sat back up, running her fingers over his shoulders and rubbing the tired muscles. She heard him let his breath out as she pressed her thumbs into the muscles of his back and shoulders. He was warm from the water and the roaring fire, and her hands slipped easily over his skin. She could feel his strength returning, a new hardness in the muscles rippling under her fingers. Athos hissed as she pressed on a knot in the muscle at the top of his shoulder. “Sorry.”

“No, you’re not.” He squirmed, and she could hear his gritted teeth as she pressed further into the knot.

“It helps and you know it.” Eleanor released the pressure and heard him let his breath out as she rubbed gently over his shoulder again, pleased when she felt the knot easing. She continued to run her hands over his shoulders and as much of his back as she could reach, frowning as she felt the scars from the whip marring the previously smooth skin. Before their ordeal she had learned the feel of each scar on his body, each one familiar under her fingers; now the feel of him had changed, and it would take a long time to become familiar these new marks. “There, how does that feel now?”

“Better, even with you torturing me.” There was no malice in his voice, and he reached back, grasping her hands, and pulling her arms over his shoulders.

Eleanor let him, leaning forwards again and resting her chin on his shoulder, enjoying the closeness. She could feel his heartbeat under her fingers, and his hair tickled her face as she pressed her cheek against him. She inhaled deeply, the scent of the warm water was strong, the rosemary and thyme that Anna put in the water prevailing. But under that, Eleanor could smell Athos’ skin, the tang of sweat from exertion that had not yet washed away, new sweat from the hot water, neither scent unpleasant. Still lighter but present was the scent of leather from his jerkin, and an individual, comforting scent that was just Athos.

Eleanor dipped her head, kissing the top of his shoulder as the scent of him washed over her, leaving her feeling as content as she ever felt these days. She tasted the salt on his skin and for a moment, could almost forget everything that had happened. Athos turned his head, kissing her hair and Eleanor raised her face, allowing him to find her lips with his own. He kissed her deeply, and she felt his mouth quirk up in a smile as he tugged on her hands, pulling her towards the bath. She laughed as she felt the water lapping at her arms, soaking the sleeves of her dress.

“No-” Eleanor pulled back, giggling as Athos tugged on her hands again and water splashed onto the floor “-no.” She was still half sat on the stool, her body pressed against the bath and his back.

“Why not?” His voice was playful, and he had not relinquished his grip on her hands.

“Because if we spill water all over the floor then Anna will kill us both.”

“Ah, you are of course, correct.” Athos stopped pulling, but did not release her which Eleanor was grateful for. Had he let her go she would likely have fallen backwards off of the stool, hardly dignified. However, she thought as she regained her balance, getting soaked as her lover attempted to wrestle her into a bath was hardly dignified anyway.

Eleanor shifted from the stool, kneeling beside the bath and feeling the water on the floor soaking through her skirts, oh well, she was wet anyway. She could not stop herself smiling as she reached for him again and heard the water moving as he shifted. His hair was damp as she ran her fingers through it, drawing him closer so that she could kiss him again. Perhaps, for just a few hours, they could enjoy each other and find some peace.


	23. Chapter 23

Treville heard Aramis sigh quietly behind him as the King prattled on about wanting to hold another ball; he knew the sharpshooter was eager to get back to the garrison and continue training with Athos. Treville himself was eager to get away from the mindless chatter, he could think of any number of other useful things he could be doing. He snapped his attention back to the room as he heard the Cardinal’s voice slip into the conversation.

“Of course, a ball could be a danger if Captain Treville has not yet found the poisoner.” Richelieu gave a smirk that went un-noticed by the King.

“That is disappointing, Treville. Why have you not found them? Even after they attacked Madame Ardoin again?” Treville could see the King working himself up over potentially not being able to have his ball.

“Perhaps the musketeers are not as capable as we had hoped if they cannot find criminals such as these.” Richelieu’s voice was like dripping poison and Treville tightened his grip on his sword.

“My musketeers are more capable than any of your guards,” snapped Treville.

“I am sure Captain Treville and the musketeers are doing all they can to find these criminals,” the Queen’s voice cut off Richelieu’s retort, “we must allow him to handle it.”

“Quite right,” the King raised a hand to silence Richelieu, “Treville you must find them and deal with them, I want them punished and quickly.”

“Yes, Majesty.” Treville bowed and turned on his heel, not even acknowledging the Cardinal. He thought that if he looked at the man’s smirk once more then he might just sink his fist into it.

“What will you do, Captain?” Aramis had waited until they were back onto the heaving streets of Paris before asking, hoping that Treville might have walked some of his anger off.

“There’s not a great deal more we can do except keep combing the streets for information and hope someone has seen them. Here, take this-“ Treville handed Aramis a small bag of coins “-go to the house and give it to d’Artagnan when you relieve him, tell him to use it for bribes and see if that loosens any tongues.” Aramis nodded and tipped his hat, turning and slipping into the crowd.

As Treville strode through the streets to the garrison he thought on the words spoken at the palace. How could the Cardinal even suggest that he was not trying hard enough to find the scum that had nearly killed his daughter and his best soldier? The man would stoop as low as he could to drip doubt in the King’s ear. It was not fear of disappointing the King that made Treville want to catch Acelynn and Henri though. He had sworn to Eleanor that he would stop them, and he would, even if it were the last thing he did.

As he entered the garrison, Treville saw Athos training with Porthos. His best swordsman was improving by the day, his strength and speed returning. Treville had feared for him, both in his career as a musketeer and his own sense of self-worth. The wounds across his back had been terrible, and for a while it had been uncertain if Athos would ever use a sword properly again. But he had beaten the odds, training harder and pushing himself further than Treville had ever seen.

The Captain was uncertain as to whether it was a promise of vengeance, desire to fulfil his duty once more, or his feelings for Eleanor that gave Athos the drive and strength he had displayed, but if he was entirely honest with himself, he did not care. Athos had been a quiet, useful presence at the garrison for so long that Treville could not imagine the place without him, it would certainly have made the other three almost impossible to control. Treville watched as Porthos swung his sword, a powerful blow that would leave most men reeling. Athos blocked it neatly, sending Porthos’ sword to the side. Moving with a dancer’s grace, he followed with a blow of his own.

Still feeling his anger at the Cardinal burning, Treville stripped off his belts and tunic, dropping them onto the table. He picked up his sword, ignoring the looks the spectating musketeers were giving each other and the speculative murmur running through the garrison.

“Athos.” Treville stepped into the training area as Athos turned, shaking sweat soaked hair out of his face.

Athos looked Treville up and down, taking in the taught shoulder muscles and jaw of his Captain. Treville saw the flash of anticipation in his eyes as Athos recognised the challenge before him and raised his sword to meet it. Porthos chuckled and backed away, ceding the position of training partner to Treville without objection. He moved to join the spectators where more than one bet was being placed on the outcome of the fight.

Treville lunged forwards, and as the steel sang, he felt the first lifting of his anger in the thrill of combat.

Eleanor was in the study when she heard Aramis arrive at the house. She could hear him in hurried conversation with d’Artagnan in the dining room, their voices not quite low enough to conceal all of their words from her. Sighing at their words, Eleanor settled herself on the new chaise longue that had been brought to the house that morning, stretching her legs out along its length; it really was rather comfortable. Her fingers ran lightly across the cover of _L’Astrée_ ; she knew Porthos had been reading it and was looking forward to asking him if he was enjoying it the next time he turned up.

Anna’s footsteps sounded at the door, and Eleanor turned her head towards her, smiling in greeting.

“I need to leave a little earlier today, child. I’ll brush and plait your hair now.”

Eleanor nodded in assent and felt Anna sweep her hair over the back of the seat. The housekeeper ran the long tresses through her hands, smoothing them down before beginning to run a comb carefully through the fiery waves.

Aramis made his way along the hall to the study. He had given the coin pouch to d’Artagnan as Treville had ordered, and hoped that maybe the coins would bring some form of insight. He desperately hoped that answers would be found soon; he had a horrible feeling that Treville or Athos might do something stupid if they found nothing. Eleanor lay on a chaise longue that Aramis had not seen before, one arm resting on the raised end and her bare feet showing under her flowing skirts. She appeared to be lost in thought, her free hand absentmindedly running over the thick plait that hung over one shoulder.

“Eleanor?” Aramis stepped into the room, appreciating for a moment how lovely she was. He might have abandoned any thought of wooing her long ago, coming to think of her more as a sister as he had grown to know her. But that did not mean he could not appreciate her beauty when he saw it.

“Aramis.” Unusually she did not appear to have heard him enter the room and appeared startled from her thoughts.

“Are you alright?”

“I was just thinking.” Eleanor appeared to realise that she had been fiddling with her hair and dropped the plait, reaching for the book that sat in front of her instead.

“Would you like to tell me?”

Aramis watched as Eleanor thought for a moment, collecting whatever was running through her mind together. After a moment she sighed.

“I heard you giving d’Artagnan money for bribes,” she looked hesitant. “The search isn’t going very well, is it?”

“You heard that?” Aramis sighed as she nodded and reminded himself to keep delicate conversations as far away from her as possible in future. “I’m sorry to say that no, it isn’t going as well as we’d hoped. Your father hopes the money might shake a few memories.”

“Will he ever find them?” There was no anger in her voice, only despondency and Aramis moved to crouch in front of her, taking her hand where it lay on the book.

“Your father will not rest until he does, and neither will we; we all want you safe.” She smiled sadly and squeezed his fingers gently. “Would it take your mind off things if I were to read to you? We still have much of L’Astrée to go.”

“I think it might help, thank you, Aramis.”

The musketeer smiled and gently slipped the book out from under her fingers. He noted another bookmark in a much earlier chapter as he made his way over to the rocking chair and wondered whose it was. Settling back in the chair, he found the marker he had left in the book previously and began to read.

The afternoon shadows were growing longer when Treville left the garrison. His bout with Athos had taken the edge from his anger, but he still felt a level of irritation that he could not seem to shake off. He let himself into the house, hanging his hat in the hall. There was food set out on the dining table, but no sign of Aramis or Eleanor. Treville heard Aramis' voice coming from the study and made his way along the hall.

Treville paused in the doorway of the study, pleased when he saw Aramis reading to Eleanor; she had not let him read to her in so long, but now she sat, seemingly content. Her head tilted toward him as he stepped into the room and she smiled in greeting. Aramis paused in his reading and closed the book when he saw Treville, seeming to read something in his expression.

"If you'll excuse me." Aramis stood and left the room, taking the book with him.

Treville moved across the room, running a hand along the back of the chaise longue until he stood behind Eleanor. He placed a hand gently on her shoulder in greeting and she grasped it gently, her fingers soft on his rough skin.

“You like your new furniture then?”

“Yes, thank you, it’s wonderful.” Eleanor had turned her head towards him, and he could see her smile.

He did not tell her that Anna had insisted he purchase the chaise, stating that Eleanor needed somewhere else to sit that was not a rocking chair or a window seat. The housekeeper had also said it would make Eleanor happy, and Treville had conceded without argument, leaving Anna to pick something suitable. It looked well enough and Eleanor clearly liked it, which made the somewhat exorbitant cost worthwhile.

“Are you alright?” There was something under Eleanor’s smile; she seemed preoccupied and Treville could see her turning something over in her mind.

“I’m alright,” Treville could tell it wasn’t entirely true, but he wouldn’t press her, “what about you? Something’s bothering you.” Astute as always, she had picked up his irritation even though he had tried to give her no indication of it. Treville sighed, resigned to being caught out.

“Just the Cardinal being his usual self.”

“Ah, as charming as ever then.” Her dislike of the man was palpable, and Treville could not help but smile as her nose wrinkled in distaste.

Treville squeezed her shoulder gently, noticing the thick plait that still hung there. Absentmindedly he lifted the braid, surprised at the weight of it. Her hair had always been a joy to him, and he tugged gently at the ribbon that held it bound in the braid, careful not to pull on the autumnal strands.

“Anna’s just plaited that; you know.” Treville could hear the smile in her voice and continued running his fingers through the braid, freeing her thick hair from its confinement. Strands slipped through his fingers, as though fire had been spun into silk.

“Then I’ll face her wrath later, I always did like to see your hair loose.” Eleanor laughed softly and dropped her head back as Treville pulled her hair through his fingers.

As he stroked the soft fall of red tresses, Treville felt the last vestiges of his irritation fall away. Eleanor had always enjoyed him playing with her hair; crawling onto his lap as a child so that he could run his fingers through it or happily presenting him with a comb. Treville would stroke her hair as he read to her until she slept curled against him. He had not spent a great deal of time at home, his career as a soldier not permitting it. But he had treasured these tender moments with his small, flame haired daughter.

Aramis was tucking into the meal that Alice had left set out when Treville entered the dining room with Eleanor close behind. They sat at the table, and Treville began to fill a plate for Eleanor, looking far more relaxed than he had when he had arrived at the house.

“Your hair has made a successful bid for freedom I see,” said Aramis. Eleanor smiled and brushed her hair back over her shoulder, the sunlight from the window catching the shimmering waves.

“It did rather, however it will have to stay that way; Anna’s gone home, and I can’t plait it myself.”

“Allow me, Madame.” Aramis stood, trying not to laugh at the incredulous looks on both faces. He moved to stand behind Eleanor, gathering her long hair in his hands and beginning to plait it. Treville watched in growing amazement as the sharpshooters’ long fingers moved over Eleanor’s hair, braiding it almost as neatly as Anna had.

“I’m not going to ask where you learned that.” Treville pulled the ribbon from his pocket and handed it to Aramis as he finished the plait.

“It’s probably for the best.” Aramis grinned as he tied the ribbon and set the thick braid down gently before returning to his seat.

“Thank you, Aramis, now we won’t have to hide from Anna when she returns tomorrow.”

“My pleasure, while Anna is a wonderful woman, she is not one I wish to be on the wrong end of.”

“She frightens the life out of me,” Treville muttered as he poured wine for all of them and Eleanor and Aramis laughed before settling down to their food.

Later that night, Eleanor lay awake, listening to Athos’s deep breathing as he slept, his arms wrapped about her and his chest pressed against her back. She thought about the conversation she had overheard between Aramis and d’Artagnan, her suspicions then confirmed by Aramis. She shifted and sat up, bare feet light on the floor as she slipped from the bed. Careful not to wake Athos, she slipped from the room. Even in his arms she would find no rest tonight.


	24. Chapter 24

“Is Eleanor coming down?” Aramis wandered out of the study as Athos made his way along the hall.

“She said she’d be down shortly and not to wait before eating.” Athos glanced over his shoulder towards the stairs.

“Is she alright? She seems distant today.”

“I don’t know, she’s been quiet all day.” Athos sighed as he led the way towards the dining room.

Eleanor had been gone when he woke up. He had found her on the window seat, lost in her thoughts. She had barely spoken to him all day, merely stating that she wanted to be alone. He could tell that she had not slept and although he would not confide it to Aramis, Athos worried for her.

Treville had joined them to eat today, as had d’Artagnan and Porthos. Anna had laid out platters of food and jugs of wine for them; muttering something about feeding an entire army, and slapping away d’Artagnan’s hand when he reached for his cup before she had finished pouring him wine.

The housekeeper had left them to it, and they had obeyed the message passed on by Athos that they were not to wait. They had almost finished eating when Eleanor appeared at the doorway. The moment Treville laid eyes on her, he knew something was not right. Athos and Porthos, sitting with their backs to the door, saw him look up and had turned in their seats, each frowning when they saw her.

“Eleanor, are you alright?” Treville half stood, looking her up and down, trying to detect what might be wrong.

“May I speak with you, Father?” Eleanor clutched at the fabric of her skirts, her fingers clenching and unclenching. It looked as though she were steeling herself for something.

“Of course you can.” The others began to move, thinking that Eleanor may want privacy.

“You can stay, you’ll likely hear it anyway.” The musketeers exchanged glances as Eleanor stepped forwards, her hands finding the empty chair between Athos and Porthos. “Tell me one thing, Father,” her words were hesitant, and she chewed on her lip before continuing, “are you any closer to finding Acelynn and Henri than you were last week?”

“I’ve sent enquiries all over the city, even started using- “

“Bribes, I know, I heard your orders for d’Artagnan yesterday.” Treville glanced to his left and right, throwing glares at Aramis and d’Artagnan. “Do you think they will work?” There was no anger or scorn in her voice, she merely wanted the truth and he could not deny her.

“I don’t know.”

At his words, Eleanor drew in a deep breath, nodding as though he had merely confirmed what she already knew.

“In that case-” She began to pace steadily along the table, her fingers running along the backs of Athos’ and Porthos’ chairs, “-I have an idea, and you’re not going to like it.”

When Eleanor had finished speaking, the men sat in silence. Aramis saw Treville’s mouth working soundlessly as he tried to process what she had said. Eleanor still paced back and forth.

“Are you out of your senses?” Treville stood, his chair skidding across the floor, Eleanor jumped slightly at the noise but did not cease her pacing. “Do you honestly believe I would let you do something so stupid?”

“I cannot stay trapped in this house any longer, Father. You said yourself, you are not closer to finding them, if we- “

“No!” Treville slammed a hand on the table and turned, beginning to pace back and forth. “This is the most foolish idea I have ever heard.”

Treville’s voice roared through the room and d’Artagnan could not remember many occasions he had seen his Captain so angry, even when he and his friends had been on some of their worst behaviour. He flicked his gaze to left and right, not daring to move any further. Eleanor paced on one side, Treville on the other, and d’Artagnan rather felt like he was caught between the lion and the lioness.

“And what would you have me do, Father? Hide away forever?” Eleanor snapped, her hair whipping around her as she reached the end of the table and spun back to face the other way.

She reached the empty chair again and ceased her pacing, her hands resting on the backs of Athos’ and Porthos’ chairs. Porthos heard her draw a deep breath and felt her press her hand against his back, seeking reassurance.

When she spoke again, her voice was calmer. “As I see it, there are three choices before us. The first is that you can kick down every door in Paris and you may find them if you’re lucky. The second is that I stay here hidden away forever.” Her breath shuddered. “The third is what I have suggested. Those are our choices, Father, please, let me make this one.”

They watched as Treville paced back and forth, saying nothing, his fist clenching and unclenching as though he wished to hit something. Eleanor stood perfectly still, her back straight and her head high, the only movement her deep breaths. She did not move as Treville ceased his pacing, glaring at her for a moment before stalking from the room. Only Porthos and Athos felt her fingers grip the backs of the seats as the study door slammed.

Aramis glanced around the table at his brothers. Porthos looked mildly amused and slightly awestruck, d’Artagnan frowned and Athos had not moved, his expression unreadable. Aramis was a little awestruck himself, he could still hardly believe that Eleanor could stand before the Captain without flinching when he bellowed, much less return his anger. The sharpshooter drew a breath and stood.

“I’ll go and see if I can’t calm him down a little.” He raised an eyebrow at Porthos who gave him a _rather you than me_ look and slipped from the room.

Eleanor let out a breath and sat heavily in her chair.

“Well that was somethin’,” Porthos huffed out his breath in a half laugh and reached for his wine.

“You think I’m a fool too?” Eleanor’s voice was steady, but her fingers twisted in her lap.

“Nah, I think it’s a brave idea, bit risky, but brave.” Porthos saw her relax a little and smiled.

“The Captain has done everything he can, to challenge him like that, it’s…” d’Artagnan trailed off, unable to find the right words to tell her that if he was still fortunate enough to have his father he would not have dared challenge him. He almost felt angry at her for not realising the gift she had.

“I don’t enjoy being at odds with him, d’Artagnan; but I am so tired of this, I need it finished,” her voice was soft, her expression urging him to understand. D’Artagnan shook his head and followed Porthos in reaching for the wine.

Aramis opened the door to the study carefully, he did not much fancy being punched if he could possibly avoid it. Treville stood by the window, one hand braced against the wall. Aramis stepped lightly across the room, approaching Treville with caution, all too aware of the Captain’s anger and what it could do. He saw Treville’s shoulders rise and fall with a deep breath and paused a few steps away, bracing himself for a torrent of rage.

"I don't want her to do it." Aramis almost breathed a sigh of relief but checked himself. Treville’s tone was not angry as he had expected but quiet and almost resigned; Aramis was not sure which was worse.

"Of course you don't; she's your daughter."

"She's just a girl." Treville’s fist closed against the wall and Aramis stepped forwards so that he could look him in the face.

"With all due respect, Sir, Eleanor is a woman who has been married and widowed, and you and I both know that she has experienced and endured far too much for you to insult her by saying that she is only a girl."

Aramis braced himself as Treville looked sharply up at him, his eyes flashing dangerously for a moment. The anger soon vanished and Treville’s shoulders slumped, he sat heavily on the window seat, his elbows resting on his knees.

"You're right, but she’s still the most precious thing in the world to me. That's why I kept her out of Paris and all its dangers." Aramis sighed and sat beside his Captain, watching him carefully.

"Be that as it may, her plan is the only one we have, and she will always be in danger until Acelynn and Henri are stopped."

“You think I should let her do it?” Treville looked incredulous.

“I think this is her choice to make, not yours.” Aramis met Treville’s gaze steadily, waiting to see what he would decide.

The occupants of the dining room had sat in silence, Eleanor could hear d’Artagnan and Porthos shifting in their seats. Porthos had tried to persuade her to eat something but she could not, her stomach twisting at the very thought. Only Athos had not moved or spoken since she had entered the dining room. Eleanor had not tried to engage him in conversation; she could feel the tension in him without needing to touch him, his silence rolling off him in waves.

“Eleanor!” She jumped as Treville’s voice barked from the hallway and his footsteps sounded.

Rising swiftly to her feet, Eleanor turned, stumbling as she hit the chair. She felt Porthos grasp her hand, guiding her carefully around the chair to face the door and squeezed his fingers in gratitude. She heard Treville and Aramis enter the dining room and stood straight and still, fully expecting her father to begin berating her again as his footsteps stopped nearby.

“Alright, we’ll do it your way, we’ll discuss this properly tomorrow,” his voice was brisk, he was not happy, but he was considering it which was all she could have hoped for.

“Yes, Father.” Eleanor thought it best to keep her reply short and, for once, obedient.

“Alright, I’ll see you tomorrow.” She heard him sigh and he stepped closer, one hand coming to rest on the back of her neck as he pressed a quick kiss to her hair. Eleanor could feel his worry for her in his touch, and felt a sadness well in her at having caused it.

Eleanor stayed where she was as the front door of the house opened and closed again. She heard Aramis’ light tread as he moved across the room, pausing beside her to lay a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“He’s worried for you,” Aramis’ voice was gentle.

“I know, and I wish he didn’t have to be.” Aramis squeezed her shoulder gently and she heard him sit down again. The silence was tangible. Eleanor sighed softly and decided to leave them to it, heading for the quiet of the study.

Aramis watched Eleanor go, waiting until he heard the study door close before daring to speak.

“Well that was more exciting than I envisioned the evening becoming.”

“Girls’ got more guts than most soldiers,” said Porthos, huffing a laugh.

“Is Treville really going to let her go through with it?” d’Artagnan looked as though he could hardly believe what he had seen.

“I suspect he’ll make some revisions to her plan, but, overall, yes.” Aramis watched Athos out of the corner of his eye as he spoke, concerned that his friend had said nothing or even moved.

Without warning, Athos stood, his chair almost falling with the force of his movement. He snatched a bottle of wine from the table and stalked from the room. They heard his footsteps on the stairs and exchanged glances.

“Didn’t think he was too happy,” said Porthos.

“Well that’s hardly a surprise is it?” Aramis leant back in his chair, putting his feet up on Athos’ newly vacated one. “He might not say it, or show it in public, but he’s as close to love with her as he can be.” He sighed at the surprised looks on his brothers’ faces.

“You think he’s in that deep?” For the second time that evening, Porthos looked almost awestruck.

“Porthos, my friend, you have eyes, don’t you? You only have to see how he looks at her, how much more at ease he is around her than he is with anyone else, even us at times, and how worried he is about her.”

“I think he looks angry rather than worried,” d’Artagnan still looked sceptical.

“Oh, he’s worried alright, but I’m not sure it’s a feeling he knows what to do with.”

Aramis frowned as he glanced toward the hall. He was certain there was going to be some sort of explosion later and he did not want to be caught in the middle of it. He half thought of beating a hasty retreat from the house and taking the other two with him, but decided that they should probably remain on hand. As far as Aramis could tell, being with Eleanor had had a positive effect on Athos; his friend had certainly seemed happier for the most part. However, she had found the cracks in his carefully constructed armour, and Aramis was unsure of how his friend would handle his new vulnerability.

Athos sat on his bed, his thoughts swirling in his mind. He lifted the wine to his lips again, when the last drops of wine fell into his mouth, he tossed the bottle away in disgust. He had not felt need for wine like this for a long time, not since he had allowed himself to remain with Eleanor. Somehow, she had almost driven that need away. He could not believe that Treville was even considering allowing her to choose this course of action, but he had not trusted himself to speak in front of his brothers.

Ordinarily, he kept any emotion under tight control, locking it away from the world. But she had found it, wrapping herself around him and unlocking things he had not permitted himself to feel in years. God help him, he was bound to her and he did not know how cope with what she brought out in him. He looked up sharply as he heard her soft footsteps in the hall outside, she paused outside his door and he heard her continue along the hall, presumably to her own room.

Athos rose to his feet and headed for the door. He had something to discuss with Eleanor.

When he opened the door to her room, Eleanor stood by the far wall tugging the ribbons from her dress, releasing herself from the corseted garment. She froze as the door opened, her fingers pausing in their work. Athos closed the door firmly behind him, dropping the latch into place. Moonlight was flooding the room, giving her an ethereal beauty that he could not ignore, even now. Her head turned towards him; her expression carefully neutral.

“Have you completely lost your mind?” Athos could not keep the anger from his voice, nor did he try.

“I knew you wouldn’t like it,” her voice was quiet. She went back to tugging on the ribbons, shrugging herself out of the dress and standing in her chemise, one hand flat on the wall behind her.

“Not like it? This plan, if you can call it that, is suicidal at best.” Athos strode towards her, watching as her head tilted at his approach. He stepped close to her, placing his palms on the wall either side of her so that she stepped back, her back flattening against the wall. Her face was unrepentant, and Athos fought to keep his anger under control. “Have you given up any chance of survival?”

“I don’t want to survive, Athos, I want to live,” she snapped, her face raised towards him, angry and stubborn. “Please-” her voice had turned to a pleading whisper, “- please don’t hate me for that.”

The furious stubbornness had left her, but a spark of anger still remained, warring with anguish on her pale face. Athos could not help himself, he ducked his head and kissed her, his hands coming to grasp her face, holding her there as he plundered her mouth with his own. He heard her intake of breath and her hands fisted in his shirt, her body curving towards him. He could feel the heat of her through her chemise. Athos broke the kiss, his hands still on her face, his heart pounding against his ribs.

“I don’t hate you; I don’t want to lose you.” The words cost him, and he looked down at her, feeling as though he could not breathe as his anger and worry welled up inside him. Athos pushed her back against the wall, his fingers digging into her hips as he kissed her again. Eleanor gasped and pushed back against him, matching his anger with her own in this battle of wills, and he heard his shirt tear as she wrenched at it.

Eleanor made a noise low in her throat and Athos felt her shift. She gripped his wrist, her other hand twining in his hair and twisted her body, slamming his back against the wall. Athos felt the breath leave him in surprise as he hit the wood but she was on him in an instant and he twisted his hand into her hair, closing his other hand into a fist where she held it against the wall. He made to move his arm, feeling a deep thrill when she tightened her grip on his wrist, keeping him pinned. Her teeth grazed his neck and he gasped and shifted, breaking her grip. He twisted his hands into the back of her chemise and felt the fine linen tear beneath his fingers as her teeth closed on his lip.

Their battle ceased, and Athos gasped for breath, his head pressed against hers and his lips brushing against her as his whole body shook. Eleanor’s breaths were short, her lip reddening where his teeth had caught it and Athos was certain his was the same. She carded her fingers through his hair, her body warm against him. Eleanor spoke, not moving away from him, her breath soft on his face.

“This is the path I have chosen, Athos. I need your help, not your rage.” He could feel her body shaking against his and held her close, pressing his palms against the bared skin of her back. He almost fancied he could feel her blood dancing beneath the soft skin, the heat from her almost too much to bear.

“You’ll need both before this is over and you have them.” She let out a sighing breath of relief and he kissed her again.

Her body curved into his, her back arching in primitive grace and Athos wrapped his arms around her, pressing her back towards the bed. She surprised him again when she twisted as she felt the bed behind her, turning him and pushing him backwards. He landed flat on his back on the bed, flipped like a raw recruit in the training yard and stared up at her in awe. Eleanor was like no woman he had ever encountered, and he watched as she climbed onto the bed. In this battle of wills, she had won, and he was content for now to let her claim him.

Aramis turned as he heard a heavy footfall behind him on the stairs. He and Porthos looked at each other as d’Artagnan leapt the last step, making as though to run down the hall. Together, they reached out hands to halt the young Gascon in his tracks, grinning broadly.

“I heard a crash,” d’Artagnan looked at them, frowning as they both chuckled.

“Not one you want to investigate,” said Aramis lightly.

“But what if Eleanor- “

“Trust me, d’Artagnan, she’s fine.”

“But you won’t be if you go charging in there.” Porthos raised an eyebrow and Aramis breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the look of realisation on the boy’s face.

“It sounds very…violent.” The boy seemed to struggle to find the right word.

“Oh, my young friend, you still have so much to learn about women; violence and passion are often one and the same.” Aramis swung an arm around d’Artagnan’s shoulders and led him firmly along the corridor to their rooms, Porthos chuckling as he followed them.


	25. Chapter 25

Anna frowned as three of the musketeers sat at the table and began tearing at the bread with almost indecent haste. It was unlike Eleanor and Athos not to be awake and about yet, but they were not here.

“They’re likely still sleeping, Madame.” There was a sparkle in Aramis’ eye and a smirk on his face.

“Yeah I’ll bet they are.” Porthos’ chuckle was cut short when Anna placed her hands on her hips and glared at them.

“Don’t be crude.” They shrank under her gaze and she pursed her lips before turning and heading for the stairs.

Athos’ room was empty, so Anna made her way along the hall to Eleanor’s room. She could hear nothing, so the housekeeper quietly pushed the door open.

Morning light was spilling into the space, falling onto the bed where Athos lay sprawled and still sleeping. The covers had fallen to his waist and one arm was thrown over his head. Anna frowned and looked around, Eleanor sat at the dressing table, her robe shimmering as she gently ran a comb through her hair. She appeared to be lost in thought and Anna stepped quietly across the room, scooping up a discarded chemise as she walked.

“Good morning, Anna,” Eleanor’s voice was low so as not to wake Athos.

“Are you alright, child?”

“I’m perfectly well, why?” Eleanor tilted her head quizzically.

“Well your chemise is not.” Anna shook out the garment, raising an eyebrow at the rough tear down the back of it. She looked back at Eleanor, scrutinising the girl’s face in the mirror.

“No worse than his shirt I would imagine,” Eleanor’s tone was light, and a small smile played at the corner of her mouth.

Gently Anna reached out and placed a hand under Eleanor’s chin, turning her face towards her. The girl’s lip was swollen, a red mark in the corner. Anna looked back to where Athos still lay, as the room grew lighter, she could see scratches running down his ribs. Well, that would explain the sparkle in Aramis’ eyes. Ah well, the housekeeper had seen more than enough marks of passion in her time, she would not chide these two for it. Anna saw Athos’ shirt on the floor and picked it up, shaking her head, it was torn completely down the front.

“Hmm, well these clothes cannot be saved, but I’ve got a bit of salve we can put on that lip. Come along, he needs more sleep yet I think.”

As they left the room, Anna looked once more at the still sleeping musketeer; he was decidedly handsome and his eyes, although often troubled, were kind. He also matched Eleanor well in temperament, calming her fire when needed as Eleanor brought him slowly out whatever darkness troubled him. Yes, it was good for both of them to have each other. She smiled and shook her head, following Eleanor from the room.

Aramis looked up as Anna bustled into the room, heading straight for the shelves on the far wall. He heard her muttering to herself as she shifted jars and bottles, standing on her toes to peer at the labels.

“Can I assist, Madame?” Aramis stood, wandering over to the shelf.

“If you would, Monsieur, you’re much taller than I. The rosemary salve if you please.” She gave him a rare smile and Aramis stepped forward to look at the shelf, ah, there it was, tucked away at the back. Carefully he pulled down the earthenware jar and lifted it, sniffing it through the linen cloth that covered it.

“There we are, rosemary salve, an excellent remedy for many things.” He handed it to Anna, and she nodded her thanks before bustling off again.

“What was that?” Porthos looked curious as Aramis sat down again.

“Rosemary salve, there was thyme in it too; I presume someone has a cut or bruise that needs attending.”

“My mother made one like that, it fixes almost anything,” said d’Artagnan.

“Rosemary and thyme, sounds like there should be parsley and sage in it too.” Porthos chuckled and Aramis sighed.

“We’re not seasoning a roast, Porthos.” His face cracked into a smile and they laughed as they returned to their breakfast.

Athos woke, momentarily confused at his surroundings. It took him a few moments to realise that he was not in his own bed, and that it was a great deal later than he would ordinarily wake. He turned, missing Eleanor’s presence, frowning when he saw that she was no longer beside him and not in the room. Athos sat up, wincing as his arm brushed his ribs, looking down he saw the sets of four parallel lines that marked his skin, and his mouth quirked in a smile as his mind flashed to the night before when Eleanor had made those marks. He still felt the twist of worry in him over her plan, but he had agreed to help her, so he would. Sighing and stretching, he rose from the bed and began the hunt for his clothes.

Athos made his way along the hall, still frowning; he had been able to find everything except his shirt. Granted, the garment was likely no longer serviceable, but it was still disconcerting to have one’s clothes vanish.

The door to the bathing room was ajar and Athos spotted Eleanor sat at the small dressing table as he passed it. She was alone, and he paused in the doorway, watching her as she hummed quietly while running a comb through the ends of her already gleaming hair. The morning light spilled into the room, illuminating her fair skin, and turning her hair to fire. She smiled contentedly to herself as she hummed, seeming to glow from within. God above she was achingly beautiful, and Athos felt his breath catch.

Eleanor’s head tilted, the humming ceasing, and Athos inwardly cursed himself for disturbing her. He stepped into the room and she smiled as she recognised his tread. When he saw Eleanor smile, Athos forgot his irritation at disturbing her and made his way towards her. He reached out to caress where the fair skin showed above her dress, his other hand brushing the soft fall of hair. Eleanor turned her head, brushing her cheek against his hand and looking utterly content. Athos smiled down at her, his smile dropping when he caught sight of her face fully.

He placed his fingers under her chin and lifted her face toward him, gazing at her swollen lip, guilt twisting inside him.

“I hurt you, I- “

“No, you didn’t,” Eleanor’s voice was firm, and she grasped his hand, pulling him down to crouch beside her. Her hand reached out, fingers light on his face as she brushed her thumb over his lip, he winced as her thumb brushed over a sore spot. “You have left nothing on me that I have not left on you; there is no need to feel guilt.”

“Your father might not agree.” Athos ran his fingers over her lips, and she laughed softly, ducking her head to kiss him gently.

“Enough of that.” They broke apart as Anna entered the room, but Athos saw the woman’s smile. “Any longer and the three young men will have eaten everything in sight before you get downstairs.” She swept her gaze over them and Athos was suddenly conscious of his lack of shirt. He stood aside as Anna approached the dressing table and set down the jar she carried.

“I will leave you, Madame.”

“Oh no you don’t, you stay where you are.” Athos froze as she looked him up and down. “You need this as much as Eleanor does, more perhaps.”

She pulled the linen cover from the jar and Athos stood still as she scooped out some of the contents and approached him. Over Anna’s shoulder he could see Eleanor smirking. The housekeeper grasped his chin and dabbed something over his lip. Athos caught the scent of rosemary and guessed it was some sort of salve. He tried his best not to flinch away as she brushed some over the scratches on his ribs, a motherly frown on her face.

“My thanks, Madame.”

“Should take the sting out of it.” Anna looked him up and down once more and nodded her approval. “There’s a fresh shirt on your bed.” Athos nodded his thanks and turned from the room as Anna turned her attentions to Eleanor.

That evening Treville sat in the rocking chair, gazing out of the window at the darkening street outside, clouds were looming; it would rain tomorrow. He rubbed a hand over his eyes, yawning; it had been a long day. He looked up as a footstep sounded at the door, Anna stepped into the room, peering at him in the light of the candle she carried.

“Still up, Monsieur?”

“I was just thinking, Anna.”

“I’m not surprised after what I heard you all planning.” She stepped forwards and held out her other hand and Treville could not help a small smile as she handed him a glass of brandy. “Do not fret too much.” Anna ignored the incredulous look he gave her.

“I thought you said you heard the plan.”

Anna sighed and sat on the window seat. “Worrying will be no help. If this plan works, she will be free, you cannot keep her caged.” She gazed at him and Treville huffed a laugh.

“She’s so much like her mother; Isabelle hated to be confined too.” It was Anna’s turn to smile fondly.

“I remember the mistress when she visited you once, I think Eleanor was perhaps four or five and spirited even then. I recall you saying that Madame Treville was as a lioness with her cub and it was true; but the cub has become the lioness and the young lioness is more like you than you think.”

“In temper perhaps.” Treville swirled the brandy glass, watching the amber liquid as it caught the light of the candle.

“Tsk, in more than that. Your men are loyal to you, they love you, your leadership, your strength. Eleanor has that same strength and your men love her for that; they will walk through fire for her. Trust in that if nothing else.”

Anna did not wait for an answer but stood, laying a hand on Treville’s arm before leaving him with his thoughts.


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just warning, darlings, Eleanor has a tough time of it over the next couple of chapters.

Henri stood on the corner of the empty square, huddling against the wall, and pulling his cloak tighter as the rain continued to fall, splashing over the cobbles and pooling on the streets. The men had brought nothing back of use from their observation of Treville’s house. Musketeers were always there, and the girl never set foot outside. If he had had his way, he might have had Marlon kill Treville, or shoot the girl when she sat on the window seat. But Acelynn was determined to have the girl in her power again and, as had always been his way, what Acelynn wanted, Henri was determined to deliver.

But as of yet, there had been nothing. No one had emerged from the house the previous day. The tall one and the young one, Aramis and d’Artagnan, that was it, had left earlier that day. By Henri’s reckoning that left the big one, Treville and Athos in the house with the girl.

He stood straight as the door of the house was flung open, the thud of it hitting the wall sounding over the rain. “Just leave me alone!” A female voice echoed across the square and a figure stepped into the rain, slamming the door behind her. Henri watched carefully as the woman moved around the edge of the square, one hand trailing along the buildings. Bright hair shone through the rain, uncovered by cloak or hood and Henri smiled.

The girl stood at the opposite corner of the square; her breaths short as she lifted her face to the rain.

“Are you alright, Madame Ardoin?” Henri kept his voice soft and she turned her head towards him.

“Yes, I’m fine, thank you, I-” something in her face changed, the polite smile dropping “-I don’t believe I know you, Monsieur.”

“Oh, we have met, but it’s been a while since I had the pleasure of your company.” Henri stepped close to her, feeling her body tense as he pressed his knife to her ribs, his fingers digging into her arm. “Won’t you walk with me, Madame?”

He heard her gasp as he shifted his grip on her arm, twisting it cruelly behind her back. Her body tensed, her back arching against his hold on her, but she did not fight him or try to cry out. Her breaths were shallow and her face pale as he took her from the square, and the safety of the house where her guardians undoubtedly waited.

Eleanor tried desperately to control her breathing as the boy walked her through the streets. Her shoulder and wrist ached where he still kept her arm twisted behind her back, and his knife pressed firmly against her ribs. She suspected any passer-by might just think he was wrapping his cloak about her out of chivalry. It was Henri, she was certain of it, she recognised his voice and felt her heart pounding against her ribs as she thought about what he was taking her towards.

The rain had continued to fall as they walked, and Eleanor was soon soaked through. She tried not to tremble as Henri brought her to a sharp stop and she heard him slam his fist against a door.

The building was quiet, and Eleanor could not suppress a shiver as the cool air hit her, colder even than outside. Henri kept his grip on her arm, hurrying her across the stone floor. Eleanor heard another door open and Henri pushed her forwards. She stumbled for a few steps and righted herself. No one spoke, but Eleanor could hear the sounds of several people as they shifted and breathed. She straightened her back, determined not to show fear if she could help it. A fire blazed nearby, the warmth stopping her shivering.

“You found her,” Acelynn’s voice sounded awed and delighted. “How did you get to her?”

“She left the house on her own.”

“Hmm, Marlon said you were clever, but I suppose that doesn’t always mean sensible.” Eleanor heard Acelynn’s footsteps approach her and smiled.

“You’d know I suppose, not being very sensible either, Acelynn.” There was a moment of silence and Acelynn stepped closer, Eleanor could feel her breath as she let out a mocking laugh.

“So, dear, sweet father told you who we were did he? Did he tell you what he did, what he took?”

“It’s not my father’s fault you lost everything, yours was a traitor-”

Eleanor reeled back as Acelynn struck her hard across the face. The blow knocked her from her feet, and she struggled to her knees, tasting blood. She felt a hand twist viciously in her hair and froze as a cold blade was pressed against her throat.

“Your father took everything from me, if not for him I would have had all that you had.”

“So, you come for me instead of him?” Eleanor felt a reckless courage even as Acelynn wrenched her head back.

“We came for you so that he too can lose everything.”

“Be careful, sister, this isn’t the death you wanted for her,” Henri’s voice sounded and Acelynn stilled for a moment. Eleanor drew in a deep breath as the blade moved away from her throat and gasped as Acelynn shoved her forwards.

“Take her to Marlon, let him play with her for a while. I want her to beg me for death.”

At Acelynn’s words, Eleanor felt her courage retreat. Her breath shuddered as hands grasped her arms, binding her wrists in front of her with rough rope that chafed the soft skin of her wrists. They pulled her to her feet and Eleanor hissed as her hair was gripped again.

“I’ll come for you in a few hours, you won’t be so brave then.” Acelynn pressed a rough kiss to her cheek, and Eleanor tried not to let panic overwhelm her as the men pulled her across the room.

Henri watched as Eleanor was dragged away. The cold, almost mocking air had left her at the mention of Marlon, he had no doubt they would hear her screams soon. For the briefest of moments, Henri thought of what might have been. Acelynn and Eleanor had looked striking when stood together, each fair in their own way. Acelynn was taller, her hair rippling smoothly, as dark as a raven’s wing. Eleanor had stood proud before her, her hair a wild, fiery contrast to the smooth night of Acelynn’s. In another life, the two might have been friends, gracing ballrooms together. Now that would have been a sight.

The men shoved her unceremoniously into a room and Eleanor stumbled. She desperately fought the panic that rose within her, threatening to overwhelm her senses. She listened carefully, fighting down her own harsh breathing as she tried to pick up any sound that indicated another was in the room. There was nothing, the air was still; as far as she could tell, she was alone.

Eleanor edged forward, reaching with bound hands for anything solid. She had taken several steps before she found a table of some sort, the wood rough beneath her fingers. The solid surface grounded her, and Eleanor dragged in a ragged breath, forcing herself to listen carefully. She could hear people moving in the building and the steady drum of rain outside. This house did not smell as damp as the last one they had taken her to, it felt better cared for. Her cheek throbbed and Eleanor could still taste the tang of blood.

Eleanor’s heart leapt as the door opened and closed again. Quiet, steady footsteps sounded, and Eleanor turned, feeling fear course through her as she recognised Marlon’s tread. She shrank away as he approached her, gasping as she hit the table. She tried to move away, but he caught her arms in a firm grip and she felt herself tremble, his touch sickening her as he trapped her between the table and himself.

“Well hello again, my beauty,” his voice was soft, an underlying amusement in his tone. He grasped her jaw, turning her head and Eleanor heard him tut. “Oh dear, that’s already beginning to bruise. Such fair skin and still you provoked Acelynn, she’s not one to cross.” He ran one finger over her aching cheek. “Oh well, let’s have a look at you, my work of art.”

Eleanor raised her chin, jerking her face away from his touch. “I am not your work of art.”

“Oh, but you are.”

Eleanor cried out as Marlon grasped her arms and pushed her across the room. The breath left her as he slammed her against a wall and pulled her wrists above her head. Eleanor struggled as she felt him tying the rope around her wrists to a ring in the wall and shuddered as he pressed himself close to her back. He wrenched at the top of her dress and Eleanor heard fabric tear as he bared her shoulders.

“Here-” she trembled as he ran his fingers over one of the scars he had exposed “-and here. This is Acelynn’s vengeance, and my art; even if by some twist of luck, you managed to escape again, it will always be with you and so will I.”

“You said you knew nothing of why they wanted us dead.” Eleanor flinched as he caressed her shoulder, hissing as the rough rope bit into her wrists.

“True, I knew, but it was so much sweeter to see the despair when you thought there was no reason behind it.” Marlon grasped her and turned her to face him, his hands running over her ribs. “I think we’ll have a little talk before we begin our fun.

“I have watched you and the musketeers for months now and I am curious as to the hold you have on them. Treville is your father but their care of you is not just because of that.” Eleanor said nothing as he mused, her heart thudding against her ribs. “I watched how tenderly the big one carried you from the house, he looked at you like a brother. Beauty alone does not inspire that. Now the one who kept you company last time you were with us, remind me, what was his name?”

Eleanor did not answer and gasped as his hand closed around her throat. He tightened his grip and she fought for breath, trapped between his hand and the wall. After seconds that lasted an eternity, Marlon released his hold. Eleanor hung from the ropes, coughing and choking as she heaved air into her lungs. Marlon grasped her waist, pulling her upright again and forcing her hard against the wall.

“Come on now, my beauty, don’t be stubborn. What’s his name?” His enjoyment was evident in his voice, his breath warm on her face.

“Athos,” Eleanor’s voice was a harsh whisper as she gasped for breath.

“Athos, that’s it, Treville’s finest swordsman. I was impressed by his fortitude under the whip, not a sound. Until that was, I turned to you.” Marlon sighed, his pleasure at the memory evident. “I have never seen so much fury in a man’s eyes as when I placed my hands on you.” Eleanor trembled as he pressed his face to her neck and inhaled deeply. “He didn’t look at you like the others, it wasn’t a look of a soldier, or a brother, what about a lover?” Eleanor could not stop her breath hitching and Marlon stood straight again. “Ah, that’s it, he’s your lover.” He ran his thumb over her cheek, catching the tear that had spilled. “How sweet it will be to have your lover know that I shared your delights.”

Eleanor felt his fingers close on her throat again and cried out as he pressed his lips roughly to hers. She struggled, trying desperately to escape his grip. Marlon roared in pain and pulled away as Eleanor clamped her teeth down on his lip. Her victory was short lived as yet another blow struck her cheek, snapping her head back against the wall. She shook her head, dazed, and cried out as Marlon gripped her again, his hands grasping at her skirts. Eleanor felt the warmth of his hand on her leg and heard fabric tear as he clutched at her, his fingers digging into her thigh. Desperately she attempted to kick out at him, but he pressed himself against her, blocking her movement.

He froze as a shout sounded somewhere in the house, followed shortly by a pistol shot. Marlon released her, cursing, and Eleanor heard him move to stand near the door. She strained to listen, trying to gather her senses to make sense of the sounds in the house. There were voices raised in panic and anger, pistol shots and booted feet pounding through the halls. Eleanor jumped as the door of the room was flung open.

“What the devil is going on?” Marlon was furious.

“Acelynn is dead,” Henri’s voice was panicked. “Treville and his pack of devils have found us.”

“We need to go, now,” Marlon snapped the last word, his anger still clear in his voice.

“I’m taking her, she might be the key to escape.”

Eleanor felt the ropes being released and stumbled as her hands came free. She gasped in pain as a firm grip took her arm, pressing on already bruised skin. Henri’s panicked breaths sounded beside her as he pulled her across the room.

“Fath-” A hand clapped across her mouth silencing her cry.

“Quiet.” Marlon held his hand over her mouth until she nodded. “Take her, if they catch you, hold your knife to her throat, that should slow them. When you’re safe, kill her.”

“What about you?”

“I promised your father I would keep you safe, now go.” Eleanor heard a sword being pulled from the scabbard as Henri dragged her down the hall away from the sounds of fighting and her salvation.

Henri pulled Eleanor through the house, his fingers digging into her arm each time another pistol shot sounded. He pulled up to a sudden halt as voices sounded ahead of them and turned sharply. She struggled and gasped as he tightened his grip, nearly falling as he forced her up a flight of stairs. Henri pulled her to a stop, his breaths ragged, and she heard him lift a lamp from the wall before dragging her through a doorway.

He pushed her away from him and Eleanor stumbled, righting herself quickly. She heard him turn the key in the lock and felt her own panic rise, fearing that her father might yet be too late. Eleanor could hear Henri's panicked breathing as he tried to work out his options and realised that he had none. She heard him put the lamp down as he muttered to himself. Reaching out a hand, she found a wall, the solid surface grounded her just enough to allow her to gather her thoughts and she spoke, her voice calm despite her pounding heart.

"They'll find us eventually; you can't hide up here forever." She hoped that even now, he might see reason and try to save himself.

"It was a trap wasn't it? You and your father set a trap for us, and now he and his musketeers have killed my sister just like they murdered my father." Eleanor could hear the grief and rage in his voice, but it stirred no pity in her.

She raised her chin, defiant even in the face of this danger. “Yes, it was, and you walked right into it.”

Eleanor heard him move and cried out as he grasped her hair and threw her bodily across the room. She fell hard against a table and heard something rattle as the breath was knocked out of her. Before she could stand, he was on her again, pressing her back against the table and wrapping his hands around her throat, his fingers tightening. This was not the controlled grip of Marlon, meant to cause fear as opposed to real harm, but one that promised death.

Eleanor felt heat on the side of her face and realised that the lamp must be beside her. Fighting the heavy fog that was invading her mind, Eleanor reached towards the warmth and grasped at the lamp, heedless of the searing heat on her fingers as she swung it. She heard glass smashing and felt it rain down on her as Henri's pained cry filled the room. He stumbled back from her and Eleanor pushed herself away from the table, gasping and fighting against the dizziness that threatened to overcome her. Henri cursed in pain and fury and she realised that he could no longer see properly, whether from his injuries or the lack of light, she could not tell.

Eleanor stumbled across the room, moving away from his voice and groping for the wall. Eventually she found it and moved unsteadily along, breathing a sigh of relief when her fingers found the rough wood of the door. She groped for the lock and fumbled with the key, her hands shaking as she tried to turn it.

"Oh no you don't." Eleanor cried out as Henri grasped at her, pulling her away from the door. She struggled against him and he stumbled, bringing them both crashing to the floor.

Eleanor twisted as Henri landed on top of her, pushing desperately against his chest as he fought to keep his grip on her. Henri managed to press his knees down on top of her body and Eleanor screamed as his weight came down on her ribs. She pushed her hand against his face, desperate to escape his weight and he caught hold of her wrist, making her cry out as he pinned it to the floor with a crushing grip. She scrabbled at him with her free hand, hissing as her fingers caught on his belt. A knife, Marlon had mentioned a knife. Eleanor groped along his belt, still trying to free herself from his grip. Henri realised what she was doing just as her hand closed on the hilt and gave a wordless shout of fury. With a desperate cry, Eleanor pulled the knife from the sheath and drove it into his side with all the strength she could muster. He lost his grip on her and reared back, shouting in pain. Eleanor kept her grip on the knife and plunged it into him again. Wet warmth spilled over her hands and she smelt the coppery tang.

She heard his breath catch and as he fell back, sliding off of the blade, Eleanor sat up, pushing herself back across the floor before struggling to her knees. Henri’s breaths were laboured, a faint gurgling sound coming with each dragging gasp and Eleanor felt her own breaths come short as the awful sound of death filled her head.


	27. Chapter 27

Porthos had waited with Treville and Athos after Eleanor had been taken. He had watched Treville pace as they waited for the news from Aramis and d’Artagnan as to where Eleanor was. Athos had stood at the window, strung tight as a bow string. Treville had all but leapt down the stairs when d’Artagnan had entered the square, running for all he was worth. Porthos had followed, entering the kitchen as Treville questioned the boy.

“You know where they are?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“The regiment is ready?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Then let’s go.”

They had left the house at a run, coursing through the streets after d’Artagnan, the rest of the regiment joining them on the way. The boy had led them through the rain, coming to a halt on a street corner where Aramis stood, his dark eyes fixed on a house a little way up the street.

Aramis had shot the lock and Porthos had kicked the door open, barrelling into the dark hallway, his brothers and Captain only a step behind. They had burst through the door at the end of the hall and Porthos had shot the first man who had turned to them. He heard several other pistol shots and saw other men fall to the floor, dead before they realised what had befallen them. He saw Aramis dart forward, his sword drawn. A man fell to the other side, d’Artagnan’s blade in his throat. Treville and Athos were crossing the room, dealing merciless death on all who crossed their paths.

Porthos followed Treville and Athos as they ran towards the far hallway, Aramis and d’Artagnan a step behind him. They skidded to a halt as a woman rounded the corner, her dark hair flying and a raging expression on her face. She looked at them and laughed. There was no joy in that laugh, only madness.

“Where is she?” Treville had raised his pistol, his face thunderous but his hand steady.

“Are you going to kill me too? Just as you killed my father,” her voice was soft, but her eyes were manic. She shifted from foot to foot, her body swaying from side to side.

“Where is Eleanor?” Treville’s voice was low and dangerous.

“I gave your precious girl to Marlon, if she’s not dead yet she soon will be.” Acelynn leapt forwards, a knife glinting in her hand. Treville fired at the same time as Aramis and Acelynn dropped to the floor without another sound.

They ran through the house and Porthos could hear the rest of the regiment searching rooms and rounding up those men that remained. Treville halted again as they came to another hallway. A man stood in the middle of the hall; his sword drawn. Where the other men they had encountered had been little more than hired thugs, this man held himself like a soldier. Porthos saw that he already had a trickle of blood running from his lip. D’Artagnan raised his pistol, surprise on his face when Athos reached out to stop him.

“Allow me.” Porthos had rarely heard such venom in Athos’ voice, and even Treville moved aside as the swordsman stepped forwards, his blade poised and ready.

“Athos.” The man smiled, his feet shifting as his sword raised.

“Marlon,” disdain dripped from Athos’ voice.

The two men came together, the song of steel thrilling through the hallway. The quarters were close for combat with no space to turn, but this did not appear to be a hindrance.

“So, tell me, Athos, have you come on behalf of your own back, or that of your sweet lover?” Marlon had parried a blow and stepped back. Athos did not lunge at the taunt as a less experienced soldier might have done, but the muscles across his back rippled under his jerkin. “I have so enjoyed my time with her.”

Athos did not grace the taunts with a response but stepped forwards again, his sword steady and levelled. They exchanged vicious blows, each parrying the other. Marlon was an expert swordsman, there was no doubt, and before all that had happened, he might once have been able to match Athos for a while. But not for nothing was Athos known as the best in the regiment and he had pushed himself in his training, exceeding even his own previous skill.

Marlon’s sword shot forwards, had the blow struck true it would have pierced Athos’ heart. Almost faster than Porthos could see, Athos’ blade flicked up, knocking the blow aside and immediately striking forwards. Marlon’s sword fell from nerveless fingers as Athos’ blade slid deep into his body. He looked down, confusion on his face when he saw the length of steel protruding from his chest. Athos withdrew his sword and watched unmoving as his opponent fell.

“You were dead from the moment you touched her,” Athos’ voice was quiet as he held the dying man’s gaze.

When the last breath left Marlon’s body, Athos stepped over him, more determined than ever to find Eleanor.

They ran up the stairs, feet pounding as they reached the upper hallway. As Treville and the others peeled off to search the nearby rooms, Porthos heard a door open ahead of them and moved forward. He made his way carefully down the hall, listening intently. A figure appeared in the dim light of the hallway and Porthos halted, his pistol raised. The figure stepped unsteadily into the light of a lantern, one hand braced against the wall and Porthos felt relief flood him as he saw the familiar glint of red hair.

"Eleanor." Porthos heard the others come back into the hallway at his exclamation. 

"Porthos?" her voice shook as though she could not quite believe he was there. 

Porthos felt his heart skip a beat as the dim lamp light hit her, revealing the blood on her dress and hands. Her hair shadowed her face, but he could see the knife clutched in one fist. He stepped forwards carefully, watching as her fingers tightened around the hilt.

"I'm here, you're alright now," he kept his voice low as he slowly reached out a hand, gently taking the knife from her. Her hand was cold as his fingers brushed hers. He dropped the blade and grasped her arms gently as her breath shuddered, frowning as he studied her as carefully as the dim light allowed. "Is any of this blood yours?"

"No." Eleanor shook her head, her face still shadowed by her hair, and Porthos breathed a sigh of relief.

The others reached them and Treville almost pushed Porthos aside in his haste to reach his daughter. He placed an arm carefully around her shoulders and Eleanor leant against him, her shuddering breaths turning to sobs as he held her against his chest.

"It's alright, you're safe now." Treville pressed his face to her hair as he whispered reassurances, whether they were for Eleanor or himself, Porthos was unsure.

"I…I killed him," Eleanor's hands shook as they twisted into Treville’s jerkin.

Treville nodded at them and they moved down the hallway to the last room. A boy lay sprawled on the floor, dark blood pooling beneath him. He looked too young in death.

"It's Henri," said Athos, his voice quiet.

“What in God’s name happened in here?” Aramis looked around the room. In the dim light from the hall he could see the remains of a lamp on the floor, the extinguished candle sitting amongst fragments of glass. Blood smeared the wall and door, Aramis fancied he could see the print of a hand in the dull red stain.

“Eleanor’s got more to her than we all gave her credit for,” d’Artagnan was impressed. He crouched down next to Henri’s body. “Look.” He pointed to the burns and cuts on the boy’s face.

“She must have hit him with the lamp; girl’s got fight in her,” Porthos could not help but nod in approval; he had known Eleanor was brave, but he had not expected this from her.

“She should never have had to fight, none of this should ever have happened to her,” Athos’ voice was still quiet, but they could all hear the underlying fury.

“We cannot change what has happened to her, my friend, but we can be thankful that she was strong enough to come through it.” Aramis placed a gentle hand on Athos’ shoulder, and they all turned as they heard someone calling for Treville from downstairs.

When they emerged into the hallway, they saw Guillem speaking quietly to Treville. The Captain spoke to him without loosening his hold on Eleanor. When Guillem had turned away, Treville looked round and spotted them before leaning his head to talk to Eleanor.

“I need to go. Athos is here, he and the others will take you home.” Eleanor’s sobs had ceased, and she nodded against his chest. They could still only see part of her face, her expression blank. Porthos shifted aside to allow Athos to pass.

Treville loosened his grip on Eleanor as Athos reached them, allowing his best soldier to take his daughter from his arms. A look passed between the two men, a silent communication of the care of the girl who was precious to them both. Had Eleanor been her normal self, Porthos had no doubt that she would not have stood for such communications over her head. But tonight, she either did not know or care.

“It’s alright, I’ve got you,” Athos’ voice was a fierce whisper.

Porthos could have sworn he saw relief in Athos’ eyes as he took Eleanor in his arms and held her close, pressing a kiss to her hair. He knew the others had likely seen it too, but they said nothing, following silently as Athos placed a protective arm around Eleanor and led her down the hall.

“Are they all dead?” They had reached the bottom of the stairs when Eleanor spoke, her voice quiet, but no longer shaking.

“Yes.” Athos had not needed to ask who she meant.

“Show me, please.” Porthos saw d’Artagnan glance at Aramis, but the sharpshooter merely gave a shrug.

When they came to where Marlon’s body lay, two musketeers were just bending to move him. Athos held up a hand, halting them and they did not question him as they stepped away. The others watched as Athos guided Eleanor, crouching beside her as she knelt. He took her hand as she reached forwards and placed it carefully on Marlon’s chest. Eleanor’s breath shuddered as she felt the stillness where a heartbeat would be.

“As I promised,” Athos’s voice was so low it was barely audible to his brothers standing behind them, but it was enough for Eleanor and she nodded before rising to her feet.

Acelynn’s body had been moved to the first room by the time they got there. She lay alongside the bodies of her men. Without the manic cruelty of her expression she was beautiful, the peace of death softening her features. Again, Eleanor knelt, and Athos guided her hand. Eleanor’s hair fell forwards, brushing Acelynn’s where it fanned out over the floor, the red tangling with the dark for just a few moments.

As she stood, Eleanor at last brushed her hair back over her shoulder and Porthos heard Aramis’ breath catch as the firelight illuminated her face. He followed his brother’s gaze and felt his own stomach twist in deep fury as he saw the livid red marks across the fair skin of Eleanor’s cheek, already turning dark with bruising. There were other marks too. Porthos glanced at Athos and knew by the clenched jaw that he had seen it too.

They watched as Athos reached out, gently brushing one thumb over the trickle of blood that ran from where Eleanor’s lip had split. He said nothing, but his eyes burned as he wrapped his arm firmly around her shoulders once more and led her from the room.

It was still raining heavily when they opened the door of the house. Aramis hastened to remove his jerkin and held it out without a word. Athos took it, nodding his thanks and gently pulled the garment onto Eleanor, carefully fastening the buttons. It reached almost to the floor, and the sleeves were too long, but it would keep her dry. In the odd thoughts that often came to him after battle, Porthos thought it suited her.

Athos kept his arm wrapped firmly around Eleanor’s waist as they walked through the rain. Porthos, Aramis and d’Artagnan followed them, eyes fixed on their friends, each of them watching for any sign that they were needed. Eleanor pressed herself close to Athos, one hand twisted into the front of his jerkin. They walked slowly over the rain slick cobbles, Athos holding Eleanor firmly when she stumbled. He did not release her as they came to the house, nor as they entered the dining room.

“Oh, thank God.” Anna leapt from her chair, worry and relief warring on her face as she hurried across the room. She rested a motherly hand on Eleanor’s cheek, frowning as she appraised her charge. “Wine, bath, then we’ll see about those bruises.” She turned away, brushing a hand over her eyes and they heard her calling for Alice.

Athos pulled a chair away from the table and guided Eleanor to it, standing beside her, one hand resting on her shoulder. He saw d’Artagnan slip from the room, re-appearing a few moments later with a basin of water and several cloths. Athos looked down at Eleanor, although her face was blank, her breaths came too fast, as though she was fighting panic.

Porthos crouched in front of Eleanor and slowly began to unbutton Aramis’ jerkin. Eleanor said nothing, but reached out, resting one hand on his chest, her fingers slipping inside his jerkin. Athos, Aramis and d’Artagnan watched their friend curiously as he stayed perfectly still, his dark eyes fixed on the girl. Eleanor’s expression did not change, but after a few moments her harsh breaths slowed and she pulled her hand back, allowing Porthos to slip the jerkin from her.

Aramis grasped a chair and sat in front of Eleanor. They watched as Aramis took one of the cloths, his dark eyes appraising Eleanor carefully with a medic’s view. He reached out, lifting her face gently, wiping away the smears of blood and dabbing at the bruising on her cheek. Carefully he picked up her hands one after the other, cleaning away the blood and gently inspecting the marks left by the ropes. He was especially careful as he bathed the burns on her fingers. Still Eleanor said nothing, allowing Aramis to tend her injuries without resistance or flinching. Her face was still blank. She did not move even when Athos pressed a glass of wine into her hand, and the musketeers exchanged glances as he coaxed her to drink it.

Aramis frowned as Eleanor’s breath hitched and studied the way she sat, slightly hunched to one side. He caught Athos’ eye and tilted his head towards the girl, tapping his fingers on his own side as he did so. Athos nodded, understanding the message.

Anna bustled into the room, wiping her hands on her apron as she told them the bath was ready. Athos heard Eleanor’s breath hitch and she gripped his hand, her nails digging into his skin. He raised his gaze to meet Anna’s and she nodded. Keeping hold of Eleanor’s hand, Athos led her from the room, following the housekeeper.

Athos and Eleanor had not long gone upstairs when the door opened and Treville entered. He glanced at the basin and bloody cloths where Aramis had set them on a side table and sank into the seat next to d’Artagnan. The boy handed him a glass of wine and Treville took it gratefully, rubbing a hand over tired eyes.

“How is she?” Treville fixed his gaze on Aramis.

Aramis took a breath before answering. “I don’t think she’s seriously hurt; she’s been bound, struck more than once and at least one person has tried to choke her.” He paused, looking at his hands. “She hasn’t spoken yet but give her time.”

“I should never have let her go.”

“She would never have forgiven you if you’d stopped her,” Porthos met Treville’s gaze steadily, facing down the flash of anger that appeared for only a moment before the Captain sighed.

“I suppose you’re right. Where is she?”

“Upstairs,” the large musketeer explained, “Anna and Athos have got this.”

Treville thought for a moment on Porthos’ words and nodded; Eleanor had who she needed at this moment. He would see her later.

Anna swirled the water with her hand, sending the sprigs of rosemary and thyme twisting and bobbing. She looked up at where Eleanor stood with Athos; the girl had not moved except when led through the house and had still said nothing.

“Come, child, the bath is ready.” Eleanor made no response except to grasp Athos’ arm tighter. Anna watched her for a moment, then met Athos’ gaze and nodded. She made her way towards the door, pausing only to gently grasp Eleanor’s hand and kiss her cheek gently. “Take care of her, Monsieur.”

Athos took Eleanor by the hand and led her gently to the bath. Her hands, always so warm, were cold. He was concerned by her silence and thought he could see her turning something over in her mind. When she made no move to undress, he reached out and carefully began tugging at the ribbons of her dress, watching her face carefully for any sign that she wanted him to stop. It did not take him long to loosen the blood covered garment and slip it from her, dropping it to the floor. There was a rough tear in the back of it, and the dress was likely unsalvageable; Athos thought that Eleanor most likely would not want to wear it again anyway. She stood in her chemise, still saying nothing. Athos felt as though icy water had been poured over him when he saw a tear in that too, the pale skin of her leg showing through the fabric. Fighting for control of himself, he pulled at the cord, loosening the garment, and tugging it gently so that it pooled around her feet. Blood had soaked into that too, staining the fine linen. Carefully, Athos helped Eleanor into the bath, and she pulled her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. Her shoulders shook and she shivered, despite the warm water and roaring fire.

Athos said nothing as he knelt beside the bath, taking a cloth, and wiping it carefully over her shoulders. He needed a moment of silence to gather his thoughts and pull himself together. Removing Eleanor’s chemise had revealed the full extent of her injuries. The fair skin of her arms was covered in bruises, the finger marks clear in the pale blues and purples. There were other bruises forming on her legs and body; he could not tell if they were from blows or other mistreatment. He thought he could see finger marks on the pale skin of her thigh. _Not that, please not that_. He had also been able to see more clearly the livid marks on her throat and cheek. His stomach twisted and his heart sank at the thought of what might have been done to her. He needed to ask, to find out what had happened to her, but he was not sure he could find the words.

“Did Marlon…are you hurt in any other way?” Her breath caught and he watched her face carefully, fear twisting inside him.

“No,” her reply was quiet, and she sounded as though she was using every ounce of control she had left to keep her voice level. “He didn’t manage to…you arrived in time to stop him…” Her fingers had found one of the scars on her shoulder, and she traced it slowly back and forth.

“It’s alright, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.” Athos felt the breath he had been holding release. He did not think he could forgive himself if he had let her walk into that most awful of attacks.

“He forced a kiss, but that was all,” the words came in a rush. “I…I bit him.”

“That was brave, is that when he did this?” Athos brushed a finger along the bruise on her cheek and the cut on her lip and she nodded. “Did someone else strike you?” He hoped it would help if she told him what had happened.

“Acelynn has…had a temper.” Athos could see her mind working, she took a breath, her mouth moving as though trying to form the right words. “If Marlon…if he had…if he’d managed to…to do what he wanted…would you hate me?” Her expression was unreadable, and Athos felt his stomach twist once more, his heart dropping like a stone.

“Listen to me-” he grasped her hand, “-even if he had, then I would never hate you. Nothing, I mean nothing that has happened tonight, or the last time is your doing. Do you truly believe I could ever hate you?”

“I…I just…he forced a kiss, that was all, and I’ve heard men don’t like it when someone takes what’s theirs…” She trailed off, fear and uncertainty crossing her face.

“Eleanor listen to me, firstly, nothing that monster did was your will. Secondly, you are not my possession, if anyone is possessed then it is I.” Athos leant forward, pressing his head to hers. His own breaths were ragged with the force of what he felt; relief, fear, anger, and his care for her all warring for space within him.

“You won’t leave?” She sounded so lost.

“Not all the time you are foolish enough to want me.” Athos squeezed her hand and stood, shrugging himself out of his jerkin. Eleanor’s brow furrowed as she listened to him drop the rest of his clothes to the floor. Athos climbed into the bath, settling himself behind her and wrapped his arms around her. He felt the breath leave her in relief. “I’m here, you’re safe.” There was still something else bothering her, he could sense it. Her fingers still traced the scar.

“Marlon said that he…that he’d always be with me in the scars. His art he called them…called me…I…I don’t think I’ll ever be able to escape him.” She drew a shuddering breath, and Athos placed his hands over hers to stop her digging her nails into her shoulders. His fingers brushed the scar on the back of her wrist, still visible under fresh bruises.

“I would kiss them away if I could, but I cannot. Your scars will always be there, but the pain becomes easier to carry. It will grow smaller each day until you feel it only rarely. These are not the first trials you have faced, nor are these the first scars laid on you by cruel hands. You will find a way to carry these too, and I will help you.” Her breath shuddered again, and Athos pressed his chest to her back as the faintest of sobs broke through her.

“Is it over?”

“They’re gone, it’s done.”

This confirmation seemed to be what she had needed to let go. At his words, the last vestiges of her control broke and sobs wracked her body, her hands shaking as she covered her face. Athos wrapped his arms around her, pressing gentle kisses to her hair as she finally released the pain and fear that had held her locked in its cruel grasp for months. Athos felt his own fear that he had held for her melting as he held her safe at last in his arms. He had fulfilled the oath he had made to her and avenged her hurts. Now he would stay here for as long as she needed, or wanted to help her heal.

Treville stared into his wine, lost in his thoughts as he swirled the glass. The others had kept up quiet conversation, but he had not joined in. He thought of Acelynn and Henri, both too young to die in such hatred. He did not feel guilt for killing Acelynn; she had attempted to kill him, but more importantly had harmed Eleanor. He felt regret for the events that had led to their deaths and his part in it. He was pulled from his reverie when d’Artagnan spoke.

“Porthos, what happened earlier when you helped Eleanor out of Aramis’ jerkin?”

They all looked at the big musketeer, curious. Porthos gave a one-armed shrug and rubbed the back of his neck with one hand.

“She likes to feel my heartbeat when she’s upset or afraid, guess it helps.” He shrugged again, awkward under their gazes.

“Don’t make it out to be nothing, Porthos.” The big musketeer looked up as Treville spoke. “If it helps her, after everything she’s been through, then it’s everything.”

“Eleanor did seem calmer afterward,” said Aramis. “You are a great help to her, my friend.” They turned as Athos appeared in the doorway, his shirt untucked and his hair damp.

“Aramis.” The man in question stood immediately and crossed the room to join his friend. They spoke in hushed tones and Aramis frowned before making his way to the shelf of jars. He searched for a moment before finding what he wanted and handing a jar to Athos who nodded his gratitude.

“I’ll be up to see in a few moments.” Athos nodded again in response and turned from the room; the jar clutched in his hands.

“What is it?” Aramis turned to find himself fixed in Treville’s stare. He sighed, leaning against the wall.

“I had a suspicion that Eleanor had some form of injury to her side and I was right.”

“What happened to her?” Treville’s eyes widened as his mind ran through every terrible possibility.

“Athos persuaded her to tell him; it would seem that Henri knelt on her when they fought. Athos fears a cracked rib, I told him I would go and check in a moment.”

“Jesus.” Porthos’ whispered exclamation gave voice to all of their thoughts.

“Is she hurt in any other way?” Treville had still not released Aramis from his stare.

“Thankfully, it would seem not.” Aramis watched as the tension dropped from his Captain, his shoulders slumping as he released the breath he had been holding. “If you’ll excuse me, Captain, I must attend to Eleanor.” He nodded and turned, heading down the hall. He needed supplies before he could be of help.

As Aramis made his way through the house, he felt a shudder run through him, cold and sickening. He had not needed Treville to specify what he was asking; they all knew of the threats Marlon had made on Eleanor, and his words to Athos had sent a wave of horror through them all. Aramis sent up a brief prayer of thanks that Eleanor had, at least, not had to suffer that particular cruelty.

Athos slipped back into his room, carefully setting the jar on the table. Eleanor stood by the window, her arms wrapped about herself as the cool air wove about her, shifting her chemise and hair. She did not turn as Athos came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her but rested her head back against him.

“I’ve brought something to help your injuries.” She nodded against him, and he led her by the hand to the bed.

Gently, Athos tugged the ribbon of her chemise loose and Eleanor allowed the garment to slip down her arms. The warm water had darkened the bruises that were still forming over her fair skin, and Athos fought the impulse to pull her into his arms once more. He wanted nothing more than to hold her close and ensure that no harm came to her ever again. But she did not need cosseting, nor would she welcome it. Instead he sat beside her and gently placed his fingers under her chin, lifting her face towards him. The darkening bruise caught the light of the candles, and his breath caught at the thought of the vicious blows that had caused it and split her lip.

“I imagine it all looks rather awful,” Eleanor’s tone was dry, and she winced a little as he touched the bruise.

“Somewhat.”

“There have been more than a few intakes of breath that tell me awful is the right word, it certainly feels that way.”

“It will heal, in the meantime-” he kissed her gently “-your beauty is still unparalleled.”

“I thought flattery was more Aramis’ domain.” She smiled, brushing a hand softly over his cheek.

“Flattery is his, mine is truth.” Athos kissed her again. He knew she did not need her vanity preened like many other women, but it pleased him to see her smile.

“This isn’t the same one Anna used,” Eleanor’s voice was soft as he began to gently smooth the salve over her skin.

“Aramis thought it would be more effective; these are somewhat worse than a swollen lip.”

“And decidedly less pleasant,” Eleanor let out a short laugh and hissed in pain, her hand clutching at her side. Athos reached for her as she hunched over, her breaths short.

“Shh, it’s alright, just breathe.” He held her as she fought to steady her breaths, murmuring softly to her.

When her grip on his hand loosened and her ragged breaths slowed, Athos carefully helped her lay down, settling her gently into what comfort he could. He picked up the salve once more and sat on the bed, taking one of her hands and starting to tend to the rope burns. He kept his touch light as he ran his fingers over her injuries, each wince of pain cutting through him like another blow from the whip.

There was a soft knock on the door and Aramis entered, soothing herbal scents following in his wake. He set the cup, bowl and cloths he carried down on the table and Athos stood aside so he could sit on the bed beside Eleanor. Aramis frowned as he saw Eleanor’s eyes squeeze shut in pain. Gently he brushed a lock of hair away from her face.

“Athos tells me you’ve suffered an injury to your ribs. May I see?” She nodded and he carefully moved her chemise aside.

Athos had been right; the dark bruising flowering over the base of Eleanor’s ribs suggested at least one was broken. Aramis reached for the bowl he had brought with him and emptied it onto one of the cloths. Eleanor hissed quietly as he gently laid the cloth over her ribs.

“What is that?” Eleanor had turned her head, inhaling the scent that filled the room.

“It’s a comfrey poultice; it should ease the pain.” Aramis carefully laid another cloth over the first and tugged the chemise back into place. “There, all done.”

“Thank you, Aramis,” her voice was soft.

“It’s all I can do for now.” He squeezed her hand softly and stood. “I’ve brought you something to help with the pain, drink it, then get some rest, you’re going to feel worse tomorrow.” He turned, briefly resting a hand on Athos’ shoulder as he left the room.

Later that evening, Treville lay on his bed in his simple garrison quarters. Try as he might, sleep would not come. Images flitted through his mind; blood on a pale dress, bruises and rope marks, Acelynn dead, Eleanor with blood covered hands. He stared at the ceiling, his thoughts turning back to earlier that evening.

_His step was heavy as he reached the top of the stairs. He felt his heart thud against his ribs as he pushed the door of Athos’ room open. Eleanor sat on the bed, her fingers gripping the covers. She stood as Treville moved across the room, her back straight as a ramrod. He placed his hands gently on her shoulders._

_“Are you absolutely certain you want to do this?” He half hoped she might change her mind, but knew she would not._

_“Yes, Father.” Eleanor rested her hands on his arms, squeezing gently as though trying to reassure him._

_“In that case, God be with you, my dearest girl.” Treville pulled her close, pressing a kiss to her hair._

_When he let her go, she stood straight again, one hand still on his arm. Treville brushed his fingers over her hand, feeling the scar that still marked her skin. He watched as her jaw tightened in resolve and stepped aside, allowing her to leave the room._

Athos lay beside Eleanor, listening to her breathing as she slept. The cup Aramis had given her had contained some concoction to ease the pain, and it had taken enough of the edge off for her exhaustion to do the rest. He rested a hand gently on her hip, wary of hurting her but needing to feel her beside him. The touch of her calmed the last of the worry he had felt since he had watched her walk away from him that evening.

_He had waited at the top of the stairs as Eleanor stepped into the hall. Her face was pale, but her head was high. One hand clutched at her skirts was the only sign of nervousness. Her hand trailed along the railing and Athos reached for it, drawing her to him._

_“You don’t have to do this,” he could not keep the worry from his voice and her face softened._

_“Yes, I do,” her voice was soft, but determined._

_Athos brushed his fingers over her pale cheek and drew her close, kissing her fiercely as her arms wrapped around him. He made himself break the kiss, knowing that if he did not, he would never let her go. He could not quite bring himself to release his hold on her and held her close, pressing his head to hers._

_“Then be safe.” Eleanor smiled sadly at his words and pressed her lips gently to his once more._

_“Don’t be too long, my love,” it was barely more than a whisper._

_She closed her eyes briefly and disentangled herself from his arms, taking a deep breath. Athos watched as she lifted her head again and walked down the stairs. Her last words had made it more difficult than ever to let her go._

_When she had disappeared, he turned and walked into his room._

Porthos lay on the bed he had claimed in Treville’s house, one arm thrown over his head. He could hear the steady breathing of Aramis and d’Artagnan as they slept, each of them having found rest much quicker than he had. He thought of the courage Eleanor had shown, as she had walked into terrible danger mere hours before.

_He waited in the dining room, looking up as Eleanor emerged from the hall and stepping forward to meet her as she made her way around the table. Although her back was straight, her face was pale, and her lips were parted. Although her breaths were deep, they were too fast, the careful composure she had maintained for Treville and Athos slipping._

_As Porthos reached her she stretched out her hand and he took it, placing her palm gently over his heart. Her fingers spread over his chest, warm through his shirt. Porthos fought to keep his breaths steady, pressing down his own fear and worry. She needed him to be steady, to lend her his strength, and he would not fail her._

_Her breathing slowed and she nodded, her fingers curling in on his shirt briefly. Porthos was surprised when she reached forwards, wrapping her arms around his neck in a fierce hug. He wrapped his arms around her, smelling rosemary in her hair as he pulled her close and wanting nothing more than to hold her here safe._

_“Keep them safe, Porthos,” her voice was a fierce, pleading whisper, and he nodded against her hair._

_“You worry about you, I’ll keep them outta trouble.”_

_“Thank you.” Eleanor smiled as he released her._

_“I’ll see you soon alright?”_

_She nodded, her face resolved once more, and he opened the door to the hall for her. He watched, feeling pride and admiration mix with the pit of worry in his stomach as she raised her head, took a breath and walked as steadily as any queen towards the door of the house._

_When she had walked away Porthos turned, moving swiftly through the house and up the stairs. He strode across the dark hallway and into Athos’ room. By what little light came from outside he could see the shapes of Treville and Athos standing near the window, their gazes fixed on the street outside._

_Porthos could just see the gleam of Eleanor’s hair through the rain and dark. He would not have needed to be able to see to know when the hooded figure grasped her arm. He could feel the ripple of anger from the two men he stood behind, and hear their intake of breath as they watched the girl who was most precious to them be taken._

_As the hooded figure marched Eleanor away, Porthos had reached out, gently placing a hand on each of their shoulders, hoping against hope that they had done the right thing._


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An extra warning, darlings. Eleanor's still having a rough time with the after effects. PTSD and mentions of past domestic abuse/non-con.

Treville hurried through the streets as the sun reached its noon peak. He had not been able to see Eleanor the previous evening for she had been resting as soon as Aramis had tended to her. He was eager to see her now, however and had dealt with his duties as soon as possible. Although he knew his inseparables would care for Eleanor, he needed to see her, to touch her, to make sure for himself that she was now safe. He still could not shake the image of his daughter covered in blood and trembling with fear. Treville quickened his pace.

When he arrived at the house it was quiet. Unusually in a house full of musketeers, the dining room was empty. Treville frowned and made his way quietly along the hall. When he neared the study, he heard Aramis’ voice, quiet and steady. Treville stepped into the room, his jaw nearly dropping to the floor at the sight that greeted him.

Eleanor lay on the chaise, her head resting on piled cushions. Her eyes were closed, and a delicate smile of contentment played over her features. Porthos sat at her feet, his back resting against the chaise and his arm laying over the top of her bare foot where it hung over the edge. Beside him sat d’Artagnan, arms resting on his knees, head back and eyes closed as he listened. Aramis sat next in line, reading softly from the book in his lap, long legs stretched out in front of him. Beside him, shoulder to shoulder, sat Athos. Eleanor’s hand rested on Athos’ shoulder, her fingers brushing lightly over the skin above his shirt collar and toying with the ends of his hair. To Treville’s surprise, Athos did not move away. In fact, contrary to his usual avoidance of physical affection in any public setting, Athos seemed to be almost enjoying the gentle caresses.

Porthos looked up, starting a little as he realised Treville stood in the doorway. One by one they turned, each alerted by the others. Eleanor felt them shift and her eyes opened; but she did not remove her hand from where it rested against Athos, her fingers continuing their gentle paths on his skin.

“Gentlemen.” Treville nodded at them in greeting and leant against the desk, dropping his hat down beside him.

One by one they rose from the floor. Porthos, grunting as he put a hand on the chaise to push himself up, d’Artagnan springing up with the liveliness of youth, Aramis with his usual cat-like grace. Athos was the last to rise, pausing on one knee to help Eleanor as she gingerly sat up. Once he had settled her, he took her hand, kissing it gently before rising to his feet and following the others from the room. When they had gone, Treville moved to sit on the edge of the chaise, noting Eleanor’s wince as she shifted.

“Father.” She smiled, reaching out a hand and he took it, squeezing it for a moment before leaning forward and wrapping his arms around her. He was careful not to crush her; but was desperate to feel that she was safe once more, to chase away the terrible images that had flitted through his mind. He held her close, inhaling the scent of rosemary and comfrey from her and feeling the weight of worry drop from him. She hugged him back, seeming to realise that he needed the physical confirmation and not objecting in the slightest. Eventually, Treville released her, and sat back, gazing at her.

“How are you?” He saw her wince again as she sat back and frowned at the bruises, stark against the fair skin of her cheek and throat.

“I feel rather like I’ve been trampled by a horse, but Aramis assures me I’ll heal in a few weeks.” Eleanor hissed quietly as she shifted, one hand moving to her side. The sleeve of her light robe fell aside, revealing the rope burns and bruises on her wrist. Just for a moment, Treville had to remind himself that those who had hurt her were already dead.

“You should be in bed.” Treville could not help but smile as she scowled.

“I wanted their company, that’s rather difficult if one stays in bed.”

“I’ll grant you that one.” He reached out to brush her hair from her face, brushing his fingers against a flower tucked into the long tresses. “A lily?”

“d’Artagnan brought them for me.” Eleanor smiled and picked up another of the flowers from the small bunch that lay on the cushions beside her. “I haven’t had lilies since I left Gascony.”

“I don’t think I’ve seen one in a long time.”

“You have other things to worry about than flowers.”

“Indeed, I do, the King wants to hold another damned ball.”

“A ball? When?” Eleanor’s head had lifted from the flower she held.

“Not for a while yet, he wants the weather to be better, but he’s talking about it already.” He paused, looking at her, contrary to the look of disdain he had expected, there was a glint in her eye. “Surely you’re not thinking of going?”

“Perhaps.” Eleanor lifted the lily, brushing it across her unbruised cheek, her expression pensive. “You’ve told me before that the Cardinal seemed…disappointed in your successes. I wonder if this might be the perfect time to disappoint him again.”

She gave a wicked smile and Treville could not stop his own smile as he shook his head. He did not know exactly what she was planning, but he did know that there would be no stopping her with that look in her eye.

“You can tell me what you’re up to later. Make sure you get plenty of rest.” He stood, leaning down to kiss her hair before heading from the room.

As he left, he smiled and shook his head, half in exasperation and half in relief. If she was planning mischief, then all the ordeals she had faced had not succeeded in snuffing out the fire in her spirit.

It was three days later when Eleanor awoke, her gasping breath turning to a quiet hiss as pain radiated from her ribs. She felt Athos stir beside her, but could tell he had not woken. She listened to his deep, even breaths as she pressed her hand over her mouth to try and quell her own harsh gasps.

_Fear. Pain. Can’t move._

Eleanor had once again felt Marlon’s hands as he clutched at her, his grip bruising on her throat and thigh. Athos moved closer to her in his sleep, and Eleanor bit back a hiss as his hand brushed the bruises on her arm where Henri had gripped her. _No_. She did not even want to be touched by Athos, not at the moment. She could not wake him, she never liked to disturb his sleep. This must be dealt with quietly. Alone. She needed to be alone.

Rising quietly, and carefully from the bed, Eleanor slipped out of the room. As she made her way down to the study, she could hear the first birdsong as they heralded the morning.

Anna was surprised to see Eleanor when she made her way through the quiet house, collecting glasses and plates. The girl was sat on the chaise, perfectly still, her back straight, her hands in her lap. But something about her worried Anna. She was too still, her back almost too straight.

“Good morning, Eleanor,” although Anna’s voice was soft, Eleanor jumped, a soft noise of pain escaping her.

“Good morning, Anna.”

Eleanor had not turned to face her, so Anna made her way into the room. She felt a tug at her heart as the pre-dawn light showed the harsh bruising on Eleanor’s cheek.

“Are you alright, child?”

“I’m alright; I awoke early and didn’t want to wake him.” Anna frowned, she had known what the answer would be, she also knew the truth.

“In that case, come along, we’ll get you a fresh chemise and get your hair combed before the young men awake and want feeding.”

Eleanor said nothing, but allowed herself to be led from the room. Anna watched her carefully, something was not right, and no doubt it would surface sooner or later.

Athos woke as beams of early morning sunlight entered the room. He knew even before he opened his eyes that Eleanor was not there and frowned as he slid his hand over the sheets. There was not even a hint of her warmth beside him; she had been gone for some time. Athos felt a twist of worry as he rose from the bed and started pulling on his clothes. Although he had confided it to no one, he did not like it when he did not know where Eleanor was. He had felt it ever since their first ordeal at the hands of Marlon. They had all told him that he was not to blame for what she had suffered, and his logical nature told him they were right. But he still felt responsible. He had not been able to protect her and she had suffered while he had lain unconscious. Athos worried that if he did not know where she was, then something might happen. He had been able to comfort himself when he knew she was with one of his brothers, telling himself that they would protect her, but waking to find her gone was another matter entirely. Athos had told himself that he was being foolish, that she was not a child who needed watching, and that he had no right to smother her. But the worry was always there.

Eleanor was sat at the dining table when Athos hurried down the stairs. He had checked her room, and the bathing room, but she had not been there. He had felt the breath leave him in relief when he saw her, sat quietly in her customary seat while Anna set food on the table. She turned her head as he approached, a smile lifting her bruised cheek.

“Good morning,” her voice was steady, but Athos thought she looked tired.

“Good morning.” Athos reached out, brushing his hand over her unmarked cheek and leaning down to kiss her gently, careful not to hurt her lip. “I didn’t think you’d be up this early.”

“I woke up and didn’t want to disturb you.” There was something else behind her gentle smile, but footsteps in the hall stopped him asking.

Aramis, d’Artagnan and Porthos trooped in, flopping into their seats with varying degrees of morning greetings as they fell upon the food. Athos set a plate of food in front of Eleanor, watching her out of the corner of his eye as she picked at a piece of bread. He could see the others watching her too, glances slipping back and forth under cover of their easy banter. Eleanor’s fingers toyed with her glass and they looked at her as she picked it up, rising from her seat.

“Excuse me,” her tone was polite, as was her smile as she turned and left the room, the door to the study closing a moment later.

“Athos, it’s starting,” said Aramis, his voice quiet and his gaze fixed on the door.

“I know, I suspected as much.”

“She’s trying to hide it again, doesn’t want us to see,” Porthos had turned in his chair to look down the hallway, and shook his head.

“Why though?” d’Artagnan frowned, “she knows we’re here for her.”

“‘Cause she’s bloody stubborn,” Porthos sounded both fond, and exasperated.

“I’ll swap duties with you, Athos, she needs you here,” d’Artagnan said. Athos met his gaze, nodding in thanks.

They started as a crash sounded from the study, their conversation tailing off as they glanced at each other, uncertainty filling the air. The faintest sound of a caught breath reached them and Athos rose swiftly from his seat, striding down the hallway without a word.

Eleanor had left the dining room as calmly as she could, hoping that maybe, just maybe they would leave her alone. She entered the study, groping for the door and pushing it closed behind her, resting her back on the solid wood as her breaths grew shallow, air refusing to make its way fully into her lungs.

_Gripping. Groping. Bruising._

She felt his hands on her again and tasted his breath as he forced his mouth over hers. Her hand shook as she drank the watered wine, trying desperately to cleanse the taste from her tongue. Suddenly her light robe felt like a crushing weight and she groped for the desk, setting her glass down and scrabbling at the belt of her robe. She fumbled at the knot, wrenching at the fine fabric and at last succeeded, freeing herself and pulling the robe open. Eleanor felt the cool air on the bruised skin of her neck as the light fabric came away. But it helped only a little.

_Don’t scream._

She wouldn’t scream for Marlon while he was alive, she wouldn’t scream for him now he was dead. Fear rose within her and Eleanor choked back a cry, bracing herself on the desk. The wine glass tilted beside her and she picked it up, flinging it across the room and heaving in shaking breaths as it smashed.

Athos slowly pushed the door of the study and stepped into the room, careful not to stand on the remains of the wine glass that littered the floor. Eleanor stood at the desk, her hands braced against the dark wood. Tears shone in her eyes and her breaths came in harsh gasps. Although he had known it was coming, the sight of her fighting to hold herself together hit him like a punch to the gut. He wanted to hold her, to wrap her in his arms. But he could not, not yet; he had to wait for the right moment.

“Eleanor?” Athos did not want to touch her for fear of startling her.

Her breath hitched but she did not reply. She grasped her arms, her fingers digging into her own flesh where he knew bruises already lay. Despite knowing the time was not yet right, Athos reached out, pressing his hand over hers; he could not watch while she hurt herself. Eleanor pulled away from him, tearing her arm from his grasp.

“Don’t,” her voice was harsh, and she spun away, taking unsteady steps towards the bookshelves, one hand clutching at her ribs.

“Let me help you-”

“No!” She slammed her hand against the books, her voice shaking, with anger or fear, he could not tell. “I have to control this, this fear, this pain. I had a husband who beat me, used me for his own pleasure and sport no matter my will, I have been poisoned, taken prisoner, beaten, and nearly killed. Three times they have come for me and three times I have lived. They wanted me shattered, broken, but I will not be…I won’t…I won’t…” Tears began to spill down her cheeks as she heaved in angry, pained breaths.

Athos stepped towards her, gently placing his hands on her shoulders. This time she let him, her heaving breaths giving way to sobs as he pulled her against his chest. He let her cry, knowing that she needed to. Although she had initially seemed calm, the relief of no longer being hunted buoying her mood, he had known it could not last. They had all been watching her carefully for days, knowing that the full force of what had happened would hit her at some point, as it had before. Athos was determined that this time, he would be there to help.

“You have endured cruelty and torment, and you have survived all. You are not shattered. But you are also not alone. I am here with you, as are the others, every step of the way.”

He felt her twist her fingers into his shirt as he ran one hand over her hair. Eventually she spoke, her tears evident in her voice.

“Porthos told me that it never stops hurting, that you just make room for it.”

“And he’s right; you will always carry this with you, but as I told you, it will grow less each day. Eventually you will hardly notice it.” He pressed a kiss to her hair and sighed. “You don’t have to hide when it becomes difficult to bear.”

“You can’t carry everything for me,” despair warred with a spark of independence.

“No, but I can carry it with you. None of us would carry this alone, and you should not expect it of yourself.” Athos was relieved when she nodded against his chest and held her close.

He heard her breath hitch, and felt alarm flood through him when her weight shifted, suddenly heavy against him. Looking down at her, he saw her face had drained of colour beneath the bruising.

“Athos…” her voice was faint and he felt her grip on his shirt tighten as she fought to keep herself upright.

Without a word he leant down, slipping his arms under her and lifting her before she fell. Her arm slipped around his shoulders and he could feel her pained breaths against his neck. Cradling her against his chest, Athos made his way across the room, laying her carefully on the chaise. He knelt beside her, one hand brushing over her cheek.

“You’re exhausted, you need rest.” She was still pale, her eyes heavy with pain; the rush of fear and her outburst had been too much on top of her injuries.

“You have to go, you have duties at the palace to…today,” her voice was faint, her breaths still short and pained.

“d’Artagnan has offered to fill my place; I am free to remain with you.”

Eleanor said nothing, but the relief on her face as she felt for his hand was all he needed to know that she would let him help her.

Treville was pleased over the next weeks to see that for once, Eleanor did as she was told and rested. He and the inseparables dined at the house each evening, all of them wishing to check on Eleanor as she healed. Treville always left at least one of his trusted four with her, for although she no longer needed their protection, it seemed to comfort her to have them nearby. They continued to watch Eleanor closely, careful not to smother her, but always on hand if she needed them.

It was dark when Aramis woke from what had been a relatively peaceful sleep. He lay still for a moment, allowing his eyes to adjust to the dark room. Aramis was not sure what had woken him; he could hear nothing in the house, but he was certain something was not right. His brothers were on night duty at the palace, the room quiet for lack of Porthos’ snores and d’Artagnan’s quiet breathing.

Mindful that Eleanor was sleeping alone, Aramis slipped from his bed and went to check on her.

He slipped soft footed down the hall, pausing for a moment outside the door to Eleanor’s room. There was no sound, so Aramis opened the door just enough to allow him a view of the room. The bed was empty, undisturbed. Aramis was not worried as he closed the door and continued along the hall. Eleanor was likely sleeping in the room that she and Athos shared, the joint room perhaps offering more comfort than her own. That room was empty too, although the covers were thrown aside. Frowning, Aramis turned for the stairs.

In the dim light of the window, Aramis could see Eleanor sat at the dining table. He approached her slowly, his footsteps soft on the flagstones. He paused in the doorway, frowning. After a moment, he made his way into the room.

Eleanor sat facing away from him, her elbow resting on the scrubbed wood of the table. Her fingers traced back and forth over her forehead, almost as though her head ached. In her other hand she swirled a glass, Aramis could smell brandy.

“Aramis,” her voice was quiet, the word enunciated with the care of one who had drunk more than was wise.

“Do you want company?”

Eleanor gave a humourless smile, her palm resting on her cheek.

“I have company-” she gestured to the brandy bottle that sat beside her on the table, “-but feel free.” Aramis pulled out a chair across from her and sat. He reached across the table, tilting the bottle to see how much was left. Eleanor raised an eyebrow. “Unless you're going to pour yourself one. Put. That. Back.” The vehemence in the last three words took Aramis by surprise, and he placed the bottle down with exaggerated care.

Something was very wrong and he needed to find out what it was.

“I didn’t know there was a bottle of brandy open,” he kept his voice light.

Eleanor gave a harsh breath that might have been a laugh. “I may be blind but I can open a bottle of brandy; musketeers aren't the only ones allowed to drink in this house,” there was an edge to her voice, but Aramis was not dissuaded. He had heard far worse from his friends.

“That's true, but I've never seen you drink to excess.” Aramis peered at the bottle again, the dim light making it hard to see how much had gone. “How much have you had?”

“Not enough yet to take the taste of that mans’ mouth from mine.” She lifted her glass, drinking deeply.

“Ah.” They were getting somewhere now, the reason beginning to show.

Aramis sat quietly, letting the silence flow between them. He knew the brandy might loosen her tongue and bring her guard down enough for what she needed; he had danced these steps with Athos many times. Something particular weighed on her, if she could tell him then maybe, just maybe he could offer his help. Eleanor reached for the bottle, her movements slow as she refilled her glass. Splashes of brandy spilled onto the table. As she put the bottle down, Aramis saw it was nearly half empty.

Eleanor drew a sharp breath, burying her forehead in her palm. “Which is it do you think? I heard the threats Marlon made, I knew what he wanted to do. God knows I'm no stranger to that kind of use.”

Aramis glanced sharply at her, taking in her words. _Oh Mother of God, no_.

“You're telling me you've been..?” Her short, harsh laugh jarred him.

“Not according to the law. A husband owns his wife after all, does he not?” She gave another short laugh.

“Oh Eleanor.”

“He had a point to make and an heir to breed. But he was no match for clever maids and mugwort tea.” She took another drink, drawing in another deep breath. “So which is it?”

Aramis was not shocked as other men might have been by her admission of her use of the preventative herb; he had known too many women for it to be unfamiliar. He was curious as to the question she had now asked twice.

“Which is what?”

“I chose it, I came up with the plan, I walked from this house, from Athos knowing another man might take his pleasure with me and that there would be nothing I could do to stop it. So, does that make me a fool or a whore?” Every word was still carefully spoken, a humourless, mocking smile twisting her bruised cheek.

Aramis felt as though her words had struck him; he felt sick at the thought that she could possibly think such things of herself. But he knew self-doubt, had experienced it many times, especially after Savoy. He drew a deep, steadying breath and stood, moving to sit in the chair beside her.

“Neither. You have endured what no woman should, especially at the hands of a man who vowed before God to cherish and protect her. Musketeers are considered brave because we face death with our duty. But you have survived something so much worse and were willing to face it again. It is said to be brave to die like a man, but to survive like a woman? Now that is brave and remarkable.”

Eleanor drew a shuddering breath, setting her glass on the table and running her hand over her face. 

“I don’t feel brave or remarkable,” her voice was quiet, the harsh, mocking tone giving way to hopelessness and she dropped her hand to the table.

Aramis reached out, clasping her hand. Gently he pulled, turning her to face him.

“Do you know why we care so much about you? What draws us to you? It isn’t your beauty, although that was a good start.” There was a small half laugh, it was a beginning at least. “It’s your strength, your strong will; we could see it from the moment we met you, certainly from the moment we heard you shouting back at the Captain. You’ve been hunted and nearly killed, not to mention being dragged into the Cardinal’s games; but you haven’t run from a single fight.” He brushed a lock of hair away from her cheek. “That is why we care for you, why Athos fell for you.”

Eleanor’s lip had begun to tremble as he spoke and she drew a shuddering breath as she took in his words. She said nothing, but squeezed his fingers as tears began to spill down her cheeks. Aramis pulled her to him, pressing a gentle kiss to her hair. He sat back, brushing his fingers down her cheek and catching a tear with his thumb.

“Come on, you need rest, and unless you’re incredibly lucky, you’re not going to enjoy the morning.”

Eleanor drew in a breath and nodded, bracing a hand on the table to push herself to her feet. Aramis slipped an arm round her waist, holding her steady as they made their way back upstairs.

Treville watched Eleanor with concern the next evening. She was pale and eating little, wincing when they laughed or a chair scraped the floor. Treville was not so naïve as to not recognise the results of too much alcohol. But he had never seen such symptoms in his daughter. He had questioned Aramis, but his query had been gently rebuffed; Aramis stating that it was not his story to tell. Athos had told Treville of the bouts of fear that struck Eleanor on occasion and although it had not been a surprise, Treville had been concerned. However, unlike last time, Eleanor seemed to be permitting his inseparables to help, allowing them to comfort her when fear took hold of her. Treville did not like not knowing exactly why Eleanor had felt the need to chase oblivion, but satisfied himself that she had been cared for.

The sun was setting, casting rays of red and gold across the floor of the study as d’Artagnan set his book down. He had decided to remain in this room for a while after Eleanor had risen suddenly from the chaise, declaring that she needed a moment alone. Although he did not consider himself quite as close to her as Aramis or Porthos, and certainly not as close as Athos, d’Artagnan still cared deeply for Eleanor. He had been able to see the shift in her expression that many might not have noticed, and that heralded a moment when she might need the help of a friend. He had not followed immediately; if she said she needed a moment alone, then he would respect her wishes. But the time had come to check on her. Stretching and yawning, d’Artagnan rose from the window seat and went to find Eleanor.

He paused in the hallway, glancing to left and right, unsure as to where exactly in the house she was. It was not unusual for her to retreat to her room, and her footsteps were often so light that he could not pick up her movements in the house. A splash of water sounded from the dining room and d’Artagnan made his way towards it.

Eleanor stood at a small side table, her hands in the basin of water that Anna had set out. At first, d’Artagnan thought she was merely cleansing her hands before the others arrived and dirtied the water with sword oil and gunpowder. Then the water splashed again, and he saw the frenzied movement of her shoulders. Stepping closer, d’Artagnan was able to see better, and his heart leapt in sorrow.

Eleanor was scrubbing at her hands, the water swirling with her frantic movements as she ran the cloth that Anna had left in the bowl over her skin. Her breaths were short and d’Artagnan could see tears running down her face.

“Eleanor?”

Her breath hitched, and her movements became, if anything, more feverish. Worried that she would hurt herself, d’Artagnan reached out, wrapping his arms around her from behind and covering her hands in his own to halt the frenzied scrubbing.

“No-” she choked out the word.

“Hey, hey, it’s alright, I’ve got you.”

He pulled her to him, holding her firmly, but carefully, his hands enclosing hers. He could feel the frantic beating of her heart as he murmured reassurances, pressing his cheek to her hair. After a few moments, her breaths slowed and she stopped trying to pull her hands free. He held her for a while longer, giving her time to come out of whatever cruel thoughts had trapped her in their grasp. When she had calmed against him, and her body no longer felt as though she was preparing to flee, d’Artagnan released her, taking her arm and guiding her to a chair. He sat beside her, resting his elbows on his knees as he studied her face.

“I…I couldn’t stop,” Eleanor’s voice shook.

“You want to tell me about it?” d’Artagnan took her hands in his own once more, inspecting them for damage. Although the ordinarily fair skin was reddening, there were no injuries besides the fading bruises on her wrists.

Eleanor drew in a shuddering breath. “I…I felt his blood on my hands again…I could smell it…” she trailed off and her fingers clenched around his.

“Hey, it’s alright-” d’Artagnan ran his thumbs over her fingers, “-your hands are clean. It goes away, I promise.”

“I killed him, he was barely twenty and I killed him,” her breath hitched again.

“If you hadn’t then what would have happened?”

She paused for a moment, caught off guard by his question.

“He would have killed me.”

“Exactly, you did what you had to do; it was survival.” He squeezed her fingers again.

“Do they haunt you, the men you’ve killed?” her voice was quiet.

“My first kill was just over a year ago, and I thought about it later. But if I hadn’t killed him then he would have killed me. If you let them haunt you then they’ll destroy you.”

“I suppose you’re right,” she brushed her sleeve across her cheek.

“I know I’m right.”

He was relieved when she gave a half laugh and pulled her into a hug.

Over the next weeks, Treville was pleased to see that Eleanor seemed happier. His inseparables reported less incidences of fear or panic, and he hoped that she was perhaps overcoming what had happened to her. He still left at least one of them with her at all times, for despite the occasional attack of her memories, their presence appeared to help prevent her from falling into her previous state of all consuming melancholy.

Porthos sat on the floor of the study, his back resting against the chaise. They had all taken to sitting like this when they spent time with Eleanor, for she enjoyed the comfort that their close proximity brought. She rested on the chaise behind him, so close to his back that he could feel her warmth on his shoulders. Currently, she slept, and Porthos listened to her steady breaths as he read the book balanced on his knees.

Eleanor shifted and gasped, Porthos felt her body tense and dropped the book, turning to look at her. She had half woken, her face set in a grimace of pain and her hand clutching at her ribs through her chemise. Her breaths were short gasps. Porthos frowned and reached out cupping her cheek gently.

“Hey, hey, it’s alright.” Eleanor hissed through gritted teeth and Porthos turned fully, rising to his knees. “I know it hurts but you gotta breathe through it.” He took her hand, squeezing it gently and feeling her grip his fingers tightly as she rode through the waves of pain.

Slowly, Eleanor calmed down, her breathing slowing and her body relaxing. Her grip on Porthos’ hand loosened and her expression grew steadily more controlled. After a moment she released her hold on him, her brow furrowed in concern.

“I’m sorry, did I hurt your hand?”

“Nah, you’ve got a strong grip, but I’ve had much worse.” Porthos studied her carefully. “You alright?”

“I think I moved wrong.”

“Yeah it happens with cracked ribs, you’ll be alright in a while. Rest of you looks like it’s healing well though.” He brushed his hand over her cheek where the bruising was beginning to fade. Anna had been liberal with the application of various salves, and they seemed to be taking effect on the awful bruising.

“It’s starting to feel better.” Eleanor smiled and Porthos settled back onto the floor.

Porthos had just reached for the book again when Eleanor’s breath hitched once more. Before he could turn to check on how she was, her arm slipped around him, her hand finding his chest and settling over his heart. Porthos stayed still, listening to her breathing slow as her hand rested on him.

“Helps with pain too then?”

“It seems to. Do you mind?” Eleanor’s touch lightened as though she would lift her hand but Porthos laid his own hand over hers.

“I told you, if it helps then you do what you need to do.”

He felt her relax, her fingers warm against his skin. He remembered when she had lain her hand on his chest when they had brought her home. Her skin had been cold then, and that, more than anything, had scared Porthos. Her inner warmth had returned now, and he smiled to himself as he picked up the book again.

When Treville entered the house that evening he was again surprised to find the dining room empty. Aramis had left the garrison before him; Treville would have expected him to be here at least, Porthos also ought to have been in the house somewhere. He dropped his hat on the table and began undoing the buttons on his jerkin. A movement in the hallway caught his eye and Treville saw a figure standing in the dim light outside of the study.

Aramis stood silent and still beside the study door, his lean figure almost silhouetted against the light from the room beyond. He was watching something intently, a faint smile playing over his face. The sharpshooter turned as Treville approached, his smile turning into a grin. He lifted a finger to his lips and inclined his head towards the study. Treville frowned at him, but his curiosity was piqued, and he stepped quietly to the door, leaning carefully to look into the room.

Eleanor lay on the chaise, her hair spilling over the cushions and trailing almost to the floor. She was asleep, her face peaceful. One arm trailed over the edge of the chaise and Treville’s gaze followed along it to where Porthos sat on the floor beside her. The big musketeer’s head had dropped onto his chest as he too slept, the book he had been reading still open beside him. Eleanor’s hand was on Porthos’ chest, her fingers tucked into the front of his shirt. Not for the first time, Treville marvelled at the tenderness that one of his fiercest, and certainly largest soldiers was capable of. All of his inseparables had taken to Eleanor, far more readily than even Treville had hoped; but Porthos appeared to have developed a particular fondness for her. Treville had seen a fierce protectiveness in Porthos and a brotherly affection in his eyes when he looked at Eleanor. Looking at them both asleep and peaceful in each other’s company, Treville was glad for it.

Treville felt Aramis stiffen beside him and turned, his eyes widening as he too saw what his sharpshooter had seen. Anna stood in the doorway of the kitchen, a jug of ale in one hand and her other hand firmly on her hip. She scowled at them.

“What on earth are you two up to? Skulking in the dark.”

“We happened upon a sight to see, Madame.” Aramis motioned her forwards and Treville moved aside so that she too could peer around the door of the study. They watched as her face softened, her eyes crinkling into a smile. When she turned back to them, her smile was gone, but her eyes were still soft.

“We will leave them in peace, come along, out.” She pulled a cloth from her apron and flapped it at them, herding them into the hallway and back towards the dining room.


	29. Chapter 29

Aramis and Porthos ambled through the streets, neither in any particular hurry as they made their way to the garrison. The city was just beginning to wake as the early morning sunlight shone through a light mist. They spotted a familiar figure walking along the street ahead of them and grinned at each other as they came up on either side of d’Artagnan.

“Mornin’,” Porthos slung an arm around the boy’s shoulders, making him jump.

“I thought you were at the house today?” Aramis stepped lightly over a small puddle as he spoke.

“I am.”

“You do know the house is that way?” Aramis glanced at the boy as he pointed over his shoulder at the way they had come.

“Yes,” d’Artagnan rolled his eyes, “but the flower seller is this way.”

“More lilies for the fair Eleanor?” Aramis grinned again.

“They make her happy,” d’Artagnan scowled, his tone defensive.

“He’s just teasing, boy.” Porthos clapped d’Artagnan on the shoulder and the youngest musketeer glanced between his two friends, still scowling.

“If they make her happy, d’Artagnan, then of course, carry on.” Aramis placed a hand on his chest and tipped his hat.

They continued along the street, parting ways as Aramis and Porthos headed for the garrison, while d’Artagnan continued to the flower seller. The young Gascon slipped through the streets, shivering a little in the early morning chill. The sellers at the market were already at their stalls, preparing their wares for the day, and d’Artagnan wove through the stalls until he found the one he wanted. The flower seller was a kindly old woman, sat on a small stool, her wares in baskets all around her. She smiled when she saw him and sat up as he approached her.

“Monsieur, more flowers for a lady?”

“Have you any lilies?”

“You had lilies before, do you not want something new?” Even as she spoke, the woman nudged a basket of lilies to the front of the small table.

“Not today, she likes lilies.” D’Artagnan looked at the flowers that lay in the basket. The pale, elegant blooms lay side by side, the long petals in their shades of pink and white catching the early morning light. He sifted through the flowers; the dark leaves cool against his fingers. One flower caught his eye and d’Artagnan picked it up. Instead of the shifting, blended pinks of the others, this bloom was white, with strikes of deep red at its heart. “This one, please.”

“Just the one, Monsieur?”

“This one is special.” The woman nodded in understanding and d’Artagnan dug in his pocket for a coin, placing it carefully in her weathered palm.

D’Artagnan held the lily carefully as he made his way back through the street towards the house. The streets were growing busier as the citizens of Paris woke and began their day. Looking at the flower in his hand, d’Artagnan had a moments’ hesitation as he paused outside the door of the house. What if his gift was misconstrued? The first lilies he had brought were on a whim. Would Eleanor think it odd if he brought her another? Would Athos object? He was fond of her and the last lilies had made her smile so beautifully that d’Artagnan had wanted to make her that happy again. He shook himself in irritation, no, he was being foolish. She would know his gift for what it was; a friend bringing something to make her happy. It was no different to turning up to see Athos with a bottle of wine in hand.

Eleanor was in the dining room when d’Artagnan entered the house. Anna was clearing away breakfast plates; although she had left food on the table, clearly expecting whoever turned up at the house to be hungry. The housekeeper spotted the flower in d’Artagnan’s hand and graced him with a rare smile before picking up the plates and making for the kitchen. Eleanor turned her head towards him, and she smiled as she recognised his tread.

“Good morning, d’Artagnan,” her voice was soft, content.

“Good morning, Eleanor.” He looked around; Anna had cleared two plates from the table. “Where’s Athos?”

“He left early.” She brushed crumbs from her fingers.

“Here, I’ve brought you something.” D’Artagnan stepped around the table. Eleanor’s head tilted; her expression curious. Carefully, d’Artagnan took her hand and pressed the stem of the flower into her palm.

Her curious expression turned slowly to a smile as she realised what he had handed her. D’Artagnan watched as her neat fingers trailed slowly up the stem, gently caressing the curves of the soft petals.

“A lily; thank you, d’Artagnan.” Eleanor beamed at him and lifted the lily, taking in the scent. Although, d’Artagnan knew she could not see the perfection of the colour of the bloom, he was pleased he had chosen it when he saw the smile it had brought to her face.

“Are they your favourite flower?” He sat down, watching her as she thought for a moment.

“I love all flowers, but lilies remind me of my mother. They were her favourite and she always had them in the house,” her voice was still soft, but a wistful note had crept into it. She brushed the petals of the lily across her cheek, now fair and free of bruising once more.

“How long has she been gone?” She did not move and d’Artagnan wondered if he had pressed too far. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

“It will be thirteen years soon.” Eleanor’s fingers brushed across the perfect petals of the lily again.

“You still miss her?”

“Always, you never stop,” her head tilted, “but you know that, don’t you?” Once again, d’Artagnan was caught by surprise at her ability to perceive things that even those with full sight missed.

“My mother died when I was young, my father…a little over a year ago.”

“Both gone, I am sorry.” Grief crossed her face. “What reminds you of your parents?” d’Artagnan sat back in his seat, thinking. He did not often speak of his parents, and memories of them often came to him with dark nights and loneliness.

“Rosemary makes me think of my mother, she always smelled of it. The sword makes me think of my father, he taught me how to use one.” It was somewhat refreshing to talk about his parents in daylight; to think of good memories rather than to be haunted by them.

“Losing my mother was bad enough, I cannot imagine losing my father too. I’m grateful to still have him.” D’Artagnan said nothing and Eleanor shifted, her expression thoughtful. “Your silence suggests you don’t believe me.”

“No, I…it’s nothing.”

“Tell me.” A curious half smile had formed on her face. D’Artagnan studied her for a moment, wondering if voicing his thoughts to her would spark her temper. Gascon he might be, but he still did not want to be on the receiving end of her anger.

“It’s…well, you spend a lot of time at odds with him.” He was surprised when her smile grew.

“You’re referring to me angering him with my plan?”

“He was doing everything he could to find them, without you putting yourself in danger.”

“He would have burned the world if that was what it took. But I could not wait any longer; despite the company and comfort, the house had become a cage. I do not enjoy being at odds with him, d’Artagnan, but I am not afraid to challenge him.” She ran one of the dark leaves through her fingers. “I may not always be an obedient daughter, but I am a grateful one.”

Eleanor lapsed into silence, her only movement the slight brushing of her fingers over the lily she still held. She seemed to have decided that she had said enough, and it was now his choice whether he was convinced or not. D’Artagnan watched her, thinking; he knew precisely what his father would have done if he had raged against him as Eleanor had at Treville. But after all, a daughter was a very different creature; and with Treville as her father, it was no surprise that their tempers clashed as they did.

“I suppose your plan did bring it all to an end a great deal faster than it might otherwise have finished.” She had made her point well and d’Artagnan felt he now understood her rather more than he had. “Plus, completely obedient women are dull.” He smiled as she laughed and reached for the jug to fill both of their cups.

The next afternoon, Eleanor entered the study. She knew Aramis was in the house somewhere. She had heard his voice as he conversed with Anna, but she had not come across him herself yet. She counted her steps to the chaise and sat, feeling for the book she had left there the night before. Her fingers brushed over something else, placed carefully on top of the book. Curious, she picked it up, her fingertips brushing over the ends of a soft, satin ribbon that was tied around a small bunch of plants. Carefully, Eleanor ran her fingers over the woody stems and soft spikes of growth, small flowers nestled amidst clusters of long, thin leaves. The warm, fragrant scent of rosemary filled her senses and she smiled. It smelt of home, of healing and safety. She brushed the small bunch of rosemary softly across her cheek, allowing the scent to wash over her.

Eleanor lifted her head as the air in the room shifted. There was no sound of footsteps, but someone was there; she could sense it. They moved, and Eleanor smiled as she recognised Aramis’ soft movements.

“Good afternoon, Eleanor.” She smiled and stood, still holding the rosemary.

“Aramis.” She heard him move forward and he took her hand, kissing it gently.

As his hand brushed hers, Eleanor caught the scent of rosemary on him and knew where the small gift had come from. She was momentarily struck by the tender sweetness of the gesture. Like the lilies d’Artagnan had brought, it was unexpected, but not unwelcome.

“Would you care to join me for a walk?” Aramis had been encouraging her to go outside. After months of having to stay in the house, Eleanor was only too happy to oblige.

“I would love to.” She turned to carefully place the rosemary on the cushions behind her and Aramis took her arm gently.

Aramis had been pleased to see the smile on Eleanor’s face as she sat with the rosemary in her hands. He would have been happy to watch her with that smile on her face for much longer, but she had sensed him. She always sensed him, even if he made no sound. He had tried to stay still when she entered a room, and knew the others had too, curious to see life at its most candid. But she always knew they were there. Aramis was not interested in her thanks for the small bunch of herbs, it was a simple gift after all, the only goal to make her smile. He was not sure if she even knew it was he who had left it there.

He had his answer as she linked her arm with his. One fair hand laid over his and she squeezed his fingers gently, a soft smile on her pale face. Aramis could not help but smile in response as he escorted her from the house, pleased that his gift had had the desired effect.

Porthos ambled through the streets, his stomach rumbling. It was true he had snagged a chunk of bread and a lump of cheese from the garrison table that morning, but he was still hungry. Plus, he enjoyed Anna’s cooking, and was happy to eat it whenever it was on offer. The housekeeper always kept the table well stocked with a variety of foods, well aware that the musketeers would eat at any time of the day or night given half a chance.

When he reached the house, Porthos could hear Anna and Eleanor’s voices coming from the dining room. Porthos pushed the door of the dining room open to see Eleanor and Athos stood together. Anna stood at the table; a cloak draped over her arm.

“I am sorry I cannot accompany you on your trip, I have duties at the palace today.” Athos had a hand on his chest in a gallant gesture of apology.

“Tsk, never you mind,” said Anna, “It’s better that you see it when it’s ready anyway.” The housekeeper waved a hand and Athos inclined his head, smiling.

“In that case, I will bid you farewell.”

Athos turned to Eleanor, one hand settling on her waist. She smiled and reached up a hand, resting it on his cheek and drawing his head down towards her. Gently, she brushed her lips against his cheek and Porthos thought he heard her whisper something. The big musketeer had sat at the table and reached for a platter of food. Although he could see Athos and Eleanor out of the corner of his eyes, he did not want to stare at them. Since they had stormed the house and brought her safe home, Athos had not shied away from showing Eleanor affection when others were near. He was not acting like a love-struck fool as Porthos had seen others do, but nor was he avoiding almost all physical contact. Still, Porthos did not want to treat them as an exhibition.

When Athos had gone, nodding at Porthos as he picked up his hat, Anna shook out the cloak over her arm. “Do not get too comfortable, Monsieur.” She gave him an affectionate smile as she watched him look wistfully at the food on the table.

“Where are we going?” Porthos stood, picking up a lump of cheese and an apple. He bit into the cheese and pushed the apple into his pocket.

“We have things to buy,” Anna settled the cloak over Eleanor’s shoulders, “come along.”

Eleanor smiled as Porthos took her hand and laid it on his arm. “You don’t mind a trip to the merchants?”

“Nah, not like I’ve got anywhere else to be.” He smiled fondly at her, and they followed Anna from the house.

They chatted amiably as they walked, Eleanor’s hand light on his arm. The housekeeper led them through the streets, and Porthos was surprised when they did not stop at the usual market stalls. Instead, she made her way to a street of well to do looking merchant buildings. Porthos felt his eyebrows raise involuntarily when he saw the one she had stopped outside. He had not expected this.

“Still sure you don’t mind?” Eleanor was grinning as she felt his hesitation.

“Well, I’d be a coward if I backed out now.” She squeezed his arm, and he took a breath before following Anna into the building.

There were fabrics everywhere, in every colour Porthos could think of, and a few he hadn’t realised fabric came in. There were patterned ones, plain ones and everything in between. There were ribbons and buttons spilling from baskets, and more lace than Porthos felt was reasonable. Assistants arranged bolts of fabric onto stands or sat stitching various forms of finery together.

Anna was already speaking to a woman, and Porthos saw her gesture to where he stood with Eleanor. The woman made her way over to them, one arching eyebrow nearly making its way to her highly piled hair as she looked at Porthos. A smile formed on her face as her gaze lighted on Eleanor.

“Madame Ardoin, I am Madame Sartre.” Eleanor smiled politely. “I am told you require a new dress, please, come this way.” She smiled warmly, seemingly pleased to have such a beautiful subject to work on.

Anna stepped forwards to take Eleanor’s hand from Porthos. Madame Sartre snapped her fingers and a collection of assistants appeared, seemingly from nowhere. Porthos watched as they clustered around Eleanor like a flock of hens, leading her to a corner full of mirrors and pedestals. They took fabric from the stands, the flurry of activity overseen by Madame Sartre. Porthos moved to one side as a young woman stepped past him, reaching for a bolt of fabric. In this world of ribbons and satin and lace, Porthos felt entirely out of place. Rather like a bull that had wandered into a herd of does.

“Your thoughts, Monsieur?” Porthos was startled as a female voice floated across the room.

“I…what?” He turned to see several pairs of female eyes regarding him.

“This colour suits, no?” Anna looked at him as an assistant held a bolt of fabric up next to Eleanor’s shoulder. It was the colour of dark wine, a floral pattern running over the fabric.

“Oh, um, yeah it’s alright.” There were titters of laughter from the assistants.

“Or perhaps this?” Madame Sartre motioned, and the fabric was moved, another girl stepping forward with a new bolt. As this fabric was draped gently over Eleanor’s shoulder, Porthos felt his breath catch. This fabric was the colour of the night sky, shimmering and rich.

“Uh, yeah, that one, that’s nice.”

He saw smiles form on the women’s faces; this was the reaction they had been looking for. Not his stumbling words, but the caught breath and the widened eyes. It did not matter that he was a friend as opposed to her husband, lover or suitor, there was always a certain look of admiration when the right colour set off a woman’s beauty.

After what seemed like an interminable amount of time, they left the world of ribbons and lace and giggling girls. Eleanor seemed relieved as they stepped out onto the street, but she smiled serenely as she laid her elegant hand on Porthos’ arm once more.

“I’m sorry, we rather sprung that one on you,” Eleanor’s voice was soft, and she squeezed his arm gently as Anna led them back to the market, stating there were other things they needed.

“It was a bit, um, different.” Even if he had wished to be, he could not be angry with her.

“I think most men would have run for the hills,” she knew he was not angry, and her amusement was evident.

“Yeah, well, I’ve seen worse. Reckon I’ll take enemy soldiers over that lot though.” She laughed and placed a hand over his, resting her head briefly against his shoulder as they walked.

They followed Anna through the market, the sun shining brightly above them as the noise of the crowd surrounded them. Porthos halted as Anna paused at the vegetable seller, picking through his wares with a critical eye.

A girl walked along the street, a basket over her arm. Small posies of flowers spilled over the edge of the basket in sprays of colour. The girl paused ahead of them, allowing someone to select one of the flowers, dropping the coin they handed her into the pocket of her apron. Porthos dug in his pocket and motioned to the girl as she approached them. She smiled at him but said nothing as he handed her the coin and selected a small bunch of flowers from the basket. He nodded at her in thanks and looked at the flowers in his hand, small, white blooms clustered delicately at the tops of fine stems like puffs of lace.

Porthos smiled at Anna as she approached them, the basket on her arm laden with vegetables. “You want me to take that?”

“Have you a spare hand, Monsieur?” She looked pointedly at the flowers he held, a smile playing in the wrinkles around her eyes.

“Always,” he grinned at her and placed the flowers carefully on top of the vegetables before taking the basket.

They finished their market trip, Anna adding fruits, cheese and cuts of meat to the basket that Porthos held. He glanced down at Eleanor as they walked, watching the way her head moved ever so slightly at different sounds. Her face broke into a smile as they passed a stall of herbs and spices, and Porthos heard her deep breath as she took in the rich scents. He found it fascinating just how she observed the world, the details she took in despite her lack of sight. It was like watching Aramis pick out a target or seeing Athos’ sharp eye appraise the strengths and weaknesses of anyone who entered a room.

They reached the house and Anna took the basket from him, quietly laying the flowers on the table before making her way to the kitchen. Eleanor reached up to unfasten her cloak, and Porthos took it from her shoulders, draping it over one of the chairs.

“I’m going to sit in the study, I think,” she sounded tired, “will you join me?”

“If you want the company.”

“I’m always happy to have your company.” She smiled and he followed her as she walked through the house.

“You alright?” Porthos watched her carefully as she settled herself on the chaise. She was healing well; her bruises had gone and her ribs bothered her only rarely.

“I’m alright, being fitted for a new dress is always tiring.” She rubbed one hand over her pale cheek.

“Was a bit noisy and busy.”

Eleanor smiled and nodded, a breath that might have been a laugh escaping her.

“It was rather.”

“Got something for you.” Porthos reached out and took her hand, carefully placing the small posy in her palm.

“Thank you, Porthos.” He watched as a smile lit her beautiful face as she realised what she held. Her fingers ran gently over the soft stems and the twine that bound them together. Eleanor ran her fingertips over the delicate clusters of blooms, feeling the soft petals. She raised the flowers, taking in the faint, honey scent. After a moment, she lifted her head, still smiling. “I don’t know this flower.”

“It’s Meadowsweet, I thought it was a good flower.” Porthos gave a one-armed shrug.

“It’s lovely, thank you.” She brushed the flower over her cheek, inhaling the delicate fragrance once more.

Porthos watched the serene expression on her features and thought that his brothers were right; flowers were an excellent way of bringing a smile to her face. He settled himself on the floor, resting his back against the chaise. Eleanor’s pale hand rested on his shoulder and Porthos closed his eyes, basking in the warmth of her contentment.

It was a few days later when Athos let himself into the house as the evening light cast long shadows in the streets, turning the scattered clouds to puffs of gold in the still pale sky. He was eager to see Eleanor, for he and his brothers had all been required at their duties that day. The hallway was already growing dark, lit only by the faint glow spilling from the door of the dining room. Anna was already lighting lamps, the East facing window giving little light to the room. She turned, and Athos nodded to her in greeting.

“Good evening, Monsieur.” She blew out her taper and turned, looking him up and down with the same, slightly appraising look that she always greeted him with.

“Good evening, Madame.” Athos had removed his hat and, noting that the table was set for the evening meal, moved to set it on the cabinet by the window. He was careful not to knock the small row of jars, each with a bloom or small bunch of flowers set in water.

“She has missed you all today.” Anna’s tone was not quite a reproach. She knew they had duties, but she still did not like to see her charge less than happy. Her words drew Athos’ eye from a single lily that was just beginning to fade.

“We were required at the palace, I’m sure Aramis and Porthos would rather have been here.”

“Tsk, not just those two I’ll bet; from what I hear the young mistress is fairer company than the King.” She arched an eyebrow at him, and Athos could not help but smile.

“You have heard correctly.”

“Then you’d best go to her,” she said fondly, “she’s in the study.” Athos inclined his head in assent, and she shook her head, smiling as he left the room.

Eleanor was sat on the window seat when Athos entered the study. Last rays of sunlight still poured through the window like molten gold. The rich light spilled over Eleanor, glinting on her hair like the sparks from a campfire. Her head rested back against the wall and her eyes were closed. Athos might have thought her asleep if not for the soft smile that had formed on her face.

“You do know your father bought you furniture to sit on.”

Her eyes remained closed, but her smile broadened, and Athos could not help but smile in return. As he moved towards her, her eyes opened, and she turned her face to him.

“That doesn’t mean I can’t sit here too.” She stretched out a hand, the skin almost translucent in the golden light. He took her hand, her skin soft against his calloused palm.

“Well in that case, I shall join you.” Athos laid his hand on the back of her shoulder and Eleanor shifted forwards, allowing him to slip onto the seat behind her. She gave a hum of contentment as she settled back against his chest, and he pressed a kiss to her hair, catching the scent of lavender that he always missed when he was away from her. “I hear tell that offerings are now required.”

“Offerings?” Eleanor turned her head toward him, her expression quizzical. Athos wrapped an arm around her, and gently brushed what he held down her cheek. He heard her soft intake of breath as she caught the calming scent. “Oh, I love lavender, thank you,” she smiled over her shoulder, “not required, but certainly not unwelcome.” She tilted her face up, and Athos kissed her gently as he placed the small bunch of flowers in her hand.

“I have something else for you.”

Athos picked up another flower from where he had laid it and wrapped his arm around her once more. She laid her hand over his, soft fingers caressing his skin. Eleanor felt the stem of the flower and he could just see the smile on her face as she traced up the stem, not taking it from his hand. Athos watched as she carefully brushed her fingertips over soft, wave edged petals, some pointing skyward, others draping down.

“An iris?” Eleanor inclined her head, taking in the sweet scent.

“Correct.”

“Thank you, it’s beautiful.”

Eleanor turned against him, keeping her fingers clasped over where he still held the iris. She pressed herself against him, warm as she found his lips once more. Athos felt heat rise in him, his free hand settling in her hair. He caught his breath as she deepened the kiss and forced himself to break it.

“Your father will be here soon.” He smiled as Eleanor groaned in annoyance, a flush in her pale cheeks.

“I supposed you’re right,” her head turned slightly towards the door, her sharp hearing picking up something he could not yet hear. “Oh, and here he is now, punctual as ever.” She sighed and pressed her lips softly to his once more, her kiss full of promise.

Athos could hear voices in the dining room as Eleanor disentangled herself from him, picking up the lavender as she slipped lightly from the window seat. One hand slipped into his and he released the iris, allowing her to add it to the lavender. He made to stand, pausing with his hands on the seat beside him.

“This ball, are you sure you want to go.” She stood still; her head turned toward him. The tips of her fingers brushed the pale purple heads of the lavender.

“I do, but you don’t have to if you don’t want to,” there was no disappointment or anger in her voice. She knew he had taken no joy from the last ball and would not berate him if he did not wish to attend another.

“And leave you unescorted? Or escorted by another? I fear I would be jealous of your company.” Eleanor smiled, the smallest lift of her cheek, as though she held a secret.

“Quite right too. I have an idea for the ball, which I’ll tell you later.” She reached for him, her fingers finding his cheek. One thumb brushed softly against his skin and she ducked to kiss him once more. “We’d best go, I must ask Anna for more jars for these, I fear I’m quite running through her stock.” She took his hand as he rose from the seat, and they walked together from the room.

As the weather warmed, flowers continued to appear at the house. Like the respectful tip of an extravagant hat, they brought smiles to Eleanor as she found them on tables, cushions, and once at the bottom of the bannister on the stairs. Aramis brought rosemary and lily of the valley, leaving warm, healing scents in his wake. Lilies always followed d’Artagnan’s visits, their perfume filling the room. Porthos left meadowsweet and honeysuckle, traces of spring sweetness following his presence. Athos brought lavender and irises, the sweet, calming scents lingering on the sheets. Each bloom was treasured, and placed carefully in water, one replacing another as they faded.


	30. Chapter 30

Treville strode through the streets, Athos at his side. They made their way through the market as the traders were beginning to pack up their wares. Treville paused at one stall, pulling out his coin pouch. Athos glanced up at the early evening sky, it was still light, but the clouds to the east were tinged with pink and gold, the clouds to the west were glowing gold, the fading rays of the sun spilling out from behind them. The weather had warmed over the last few weeks, and the King had insisted on being able to hold the ball he had wanted to hold for months. Athos had not asked Eleanor again if she was certain in her decision to attend; he knew she would not change her mind. Treville joined him again and they continued on their way.

Eleanor toyed with a bunch of lavender as Anna finished pinning her hair into place. She smiled to herself, brushing the flowers softly over her cheek and catching the sweet fragrance they left behind.

“There, all done.” Anna placed her hands briefly on Eleanor’s shoulders.

“Thank you, Anna.” Eleanor stood, and the housekeeper stepped back to admire her work.

“Perfect.”

Athos looked up as footsteps sounded in the hall and felt his breath hitch as Eleanor walked into the room. Her dress rustled quietly as she walked, shimmering softly in the candlelight. The indigo blue fabric served only to enhance her beauty, the jewel tone drawing attention to the fairness of her skin and bright hair. Pearls and silver glinted at her throat, drawing his eye to the soft skin of her neck. Anna had done her hair again. This time, she had not confined it all, but had left some of it loose, the long tresses hanging over her shoulder. Athos preferred her hair this way to how it had been for the last ball; he did not like to see her fiery hair confined. He really preferred to see it completely free, tangling around her or falling down her back in shining waves, the ends caressing her waist. But that would not do for court.

“Eleanor.” Treville stepped forwards, laying a hand on her arm and kissing her cheek.

“Father.” Confusion crossed her face as he took her hand, pressing what he held into her palm. She caressed the stem of the flower he had bought at the market, running her fingers over the petals and trumpet shaped head of the flower. “A new flower, what is it?”

“A jonquil, or so I’m told. I thought you should have a different flower for the evening of the ball.”

“Thank you, Papa.” Eleanor smiled brightly and stood on her toes to kiss his cheek.

Treville could not stop himself from smiling at her use of the affectionate term. It had become rarer and rarer as she had grown from a small child, and he almost never heard it from the woman before him. He looked at her for a moment, beautiful, elegant, as fierce as her mother and as stubborn as him. Treville felt a swell of pride and love that he rarely permitted overwhelm him, and shook himself.

“Come on, we should get going.” He glanced over his shoulder and stepped aside, allowing Athos to step forward.

Athos reached for Eleanor’s hand, squeezing it and pressing a kiss to the back of her fingers. She smiled, seeming to glow in the light of the candles, and Athos felt a momentary desire to take her hand and lead her back upstairs. Instead, he waited for Anna to drape a cloak over Eleanor’s shoulders, before leading her from the house.

The palace was almost breath-taking in its splendour. All had been polished, preened and decorated to perfection. Torches flamed along the paths in the gardens and candles glimmered inside. The cry of a peacock could be heard over the sounds of excited chatter. Treville, slipped away to ensure all was running smoothly, leaving Athos and Eleanor to join the throng of well-dressed nobles making their way to the palace doors. A servant stepped forwards as they entered, his hands held out. Athos paused, undoing Eleanor’s cloak and sweeping it from her shoulders. The servant took it, bowing his head and disappearing off.

“Are you ready?” Athos kept his voice low and looked at Eleanor, surprised to see a small smile on her face.

“Are you?”

“As I’ll ever be.” Her smile broadened at his words, and her hand rested lightly on his, her fingers tightening briefly on his as they entered the ballroom.

As had happened at the last ball, eyes followed Eleanor as Athos guided her through the hall. Again, he felt a surge of protectiveness, reflecting that this time, he at least had what others would consider a good reason for it. He felt no jealousy towards the men who stared at her; anyone with their sight could not be ignorant of her desirability, especially not this night. Athos was also secure in the knowledge that for some reason that he could not fathom, Eleanor had chosen him. The King and Queen had not entered yet, and the guests milled around in polite conversation as the musicians played in the background. As they passed groups of people, conversation paused momentarily, re-starting as men gathered their wits once more. Athos glanced at Eleanor, her face was serene, but he could tell she was picking up the lapses in conversation.

“Your beauty has left them speechless,” he had bent his head to speak quietly in her ear, and felt, rather than saw her mix of relief and satisfaction. Tonight, perhaps for one of the first times in her life, she knew the power of her own beauty.

They wove their way through the hall, heading to where Aramis, Porthos, and d’Artagnan stood. When they were partway across the floor, the fanfare sounded, announcing the entrance of the King and Queen. All conversation ceased for a moment as the guests bowed and curtsied. The King stood on the dais, grinning as he held his arms wide in welcome. The monarch’s eyes travelled over the room, and Athos saw his gaze light on Eleanor for a moment. He beckoned to them, and Athos spoke softly to Eleanor before guiding her forward. Some of the conversation had started again in hushed whispers, but eyes were on them as they made their way to the thrones. Athos squeezed Eleanor’s hand, and she sank into a deep, elegant curtsy.

“It is wonderful to see you back at court, Madame Ardoin.”

“It is good to be back, your Majesty.” Eleanor smiled and inclined her head graciously. Athos could see nearby courtiers watching and listening.

“Perhaps Madame Ardoin would favour us with another dance.” The Cardinal had stepped forwards, smirking. Athos heard excited whispers travelling the hall.

“If his majesty desires for me to dance, then it will be my pleasure.” Eleanor dipped her shoulder in a coy gesture of acquiescence.

“An excellent idea, Cardinal,” the King was almost bouncing with glee. “Will you open the ball for us, Madame Ardoin?”

“Happily, Sire.”

Eleanor lifted her head, smiling coquettishly. She reached out a hand, and Athos saw a gleam in her eye. The other guests had moved to the edges of the hall, clearing a space at the centre of the floor. Eleanor’s hand was light on his as they came to a halt.

“Are you ready?” asked Athos, his voice low. Eleanor nodded almost imperceptibly and turned her head towards the musicians.

“Play a Canarie,” her voice rang clear through the hall, and excited murmurs filled the space.

Aramis grinned as he heard the buzzing of voices that followed Eleanor’s command. Unlike the guests, he, Porthos and d’Artagnan were not surprised at her choice of dance. Eleanor and Athos had been practicing this dance for weeks, ever since she had recovered enough from her injuries to do so. She had, once again, had an idea and convinced them to help her carry it out.

Aramis watched as Eleanor turned, walking away from Athos as the first notes began to play. She paused, hands gathering her skirts in readiness. Eleanor lowered her head to one side, almost as though she would glance back at him. As she lifted her chin once more and began to turn, her fiery hair slid back over her shoulder, brushing the fair skin like a lover’s caress. Aramis saw open mouths, and knew that more than one person would be asking God’s forgiveness for their thoughts that night.

Eleanor had turned to face Athos fully. He had tapped his foot once as she had faced the right way; a pre-arranged signal between them to prevent her becoming disorientated. As he watched, Aramis could see that she had not needed the guiding sound, her movements were sure and perfect. Eleanor began to move across the floor, the taps of her steps sounding through the hall with the music. As she moved, her body swayed, inviting and hypnotising. She held her skirts up so that her feet could be seen, her steps neat as she advanced on her lover. Eleanor halted just in front of him, her skirts swaying. Another woman might have fixed him with her gaze, capturing him from beneath her eyelashes; instead, Eleanor’s smile and slightly raised chin had the same effect, holding him completely. Athos advanced towards her, and Eleanor retreated, rolling her shoulder flirtatiously as they moved across the floor.

Aramis thought back to when Eleanor had first put the idea of this dance to Athos. They had all been surprised at her suggestion, expecting her to want to avoid the court where, thanks to the King’s chatter and the Cardinal, many of her misfortunes were known. Athos had tried to dissuade her. There had been a slamming door and raised voices. Aramis had been about to retreat from the house with his brothers when they had heard Eleanor’s angry shout echo through the halls. _“I will not be the broken, delicate flower they expect me to be.”_ That had been an end to it. The angry shouting had ceased, and Athos had emerged the next morning with a swollen lip, and a newfound agreement with Eleanor’s plan.

The sharpshooter’s attention was drawn back to the dance as the music increased in speed. The teasing advance and retreat had ceased, becoming fast turns and lifts as the fiery wooing dance continued. As they moved together, perfectly in time and with heed to no one else, the message to the hall was clear. _We are not here for you; we belong to each other alone._

When the dance finished, Athos and Eleanor were both breathing hard. Her cheeks were flushed, and her lips parted, adding still further to her beauty and desirability. His eyes burned as he watched her, looking away only briefly as he guided her to face the thrones before bowing to the King. The hall was filled with applause, the audience impressed and mildly scandalised in equal measure.

Aramis risked a glance at the Cardinal; Richelieu’s’ smirk was gone. Ever since he had met Eleanor, it had been evident that the Cardinal had seen her as another route in his permanent mission to humiliate, and discredit Treville. Tonight, Eleanor had seized power, taking his greatest tool in her discomfort away from him. As she rose from her deep, and perfect curtsy, she seemed to glow from the aftermath of the dance. Tonight, nothing could touch her.

The applause and excited chatter eventually died away, the guests leaving Athos and Eleanor be as the musicians began to play the next dance. They were able now, to make their way to where their friends stood.

“Well that couldn’t have gone better.” Porthos clapped a hand on his friend’s shoulder, grinning. Athos smiled in answer, a flash of mischief sparked in the blue eyes as he glanced back at the Cardinal.

“I think his eminence feels differently.” Athos turned his gaze back to Eleanor as he spoke, and Porthos chuckled.

“Sublime, as always.” Aramis took Eleanor’s hand and kissed it. He squeezed her fingers gently as Treville approached behind her. The Captain placed his hand on Eleanor’s back, leaning down to speak in her ear.

“If you wished to irritate the Cardinal then you’ve succeeded,” Treville did not sound irritated, rather half amused. Eleanor’s cheek lifted in a smirk, but she said nothing. “He may try something later, have a care.”

“I will, Father.”

Treville stood aside as two young women approached them, he recognised one as the Comtess de Challant. “Comtess.” Treville nodded in greeting.

“Captain Treville.” The Comtess smiled brightly at him, hand in hand with her companion. “Will you introduce your daughter to us?”

“Of course,” Treville took Eleanor’s hand, bringing her forward. “Comtess, may I present my daughter, Eleanor Ardoin.”

“It is so wonderful to meet you, Eleanor.” The young Comtess almost bounced forward, reaching out her hands to take Eleanor’s. Her excitement was palpable, and Eleanor could not help but smile.

“Likewise, Comtess.”

“Please, you must call me Lucille. Tell me, Eleanor, will you dance again tonight? You dance so beautifully, and your handsome partner too.” Her gaze flashed over Eleanor’s shoulder, admiring Athos where he stood. “The Minuet comes next.”

“The Minuet involves the switching of partners does it not?” Aramis flashed a smile at the young women.

“It does indeed, perhaps you would join us, Monsieur. My friend, Gabrielle lacks a partner.” Her blue eyes sparkled at him from beneath long lashes and she reached out, taking her companion’s hand once more.

“Alas, it’s not one I’m familiar with.” Aramis placed a gallant hand on his chest. “My friend, Porthos, however…” he reached out, placing a hand on Porthos’ shoulder. Gabrielle’s eyes were bright as she took in the musketeer.

“Will you dance, Monsieur?” She had large, brown eyes, set in a pretty, rounded face. Porthos smiled at her.

“If you want a partner.”

“Well that’s settled.” Lucille clapped her hands with glee, bouncing on the balls of her feet. She grasped Eleanor’s hand once more, familiar in her excitability. “Come, we must all take our places soon.” She turned, walking away hand in hand with Gabrielle and Eleanor.

Porthos raised his eyebrows at Athos, grinning, and they followed the women towards the dance floor.

Porthos felt his stomach twist with nerves as he stepped into the middle of the hall opposite Gabrielle. Eleanor stood beside him, Athos opposite her. Porthos glanced down at Eleanor.

“Just as we practiced, right?”

“Exactly as we practiced.” She smiled and stretched out a hand, grasping his arm briefly. Her light touch reassured him, and he took a deep breath as the musicians began to play.

Treville watched as the line of couples moved across the floor, swirling with and around each other. He could see that Porthos was nervous. Although the big musketeer had practiced this dance for weeks with Athos and Eleanor, assisted by a willing Constance; this would be the first test of his new skill in public. He appeared to have the right partner, however; the sweet looking Gabrielle was light on her feet, moving in perfect time with the musketeer. Eleanor and Gabrielle moved gracefully between the musketeers, Treville could see Lucille swirling in a wave of pale blue skirts along the line. The three women all looked joyous, smiling and laughing as they danced. Porthos was beginning to relax, as his weeks of practice payed off, and Gabrielle shone sweet glances at him. Even Athos appeared to be enjoying himself, his expression cordial as he danced with Gabrielle, and breaking into genuine smiles as he took Eleanor’s hand once more.

The dance finished and applause broke through the hall. Lucille skipped her way over to where the others stood, her blue eyes bright with excitement.

“Such a dance, oh I love the Minuet.” She flicked a golden curl away from her face and reached out to take the hands of the two women once more. “Come, Eleanor, as charming and handsome as they are, we can’t let the gentlemen keep you to themselves all night.”

She smiled brightly at the musketeers and slipped into the crowd, leading her companions by the hands. Athos and Porthos looked at each other; the young Comtess would not be denied in her determination to befriend Eleanor. They returned to their friends, resolving to keep an eye on where the women were should Eleanor need them.

Lucille and Gabrielle chattered away happily as they moved through the ball, one or both of them keeping hold of Eleanor’s hand at all times. Eleanor could not help but smile at their exuberance. Lucille glided from conversation to conversation, perfectly at ease with life at the court. She introduced Eleanor to several people, her own social status protecting her new friend from much of the imprudent curiosity that had previously been displayed.

“Captain.” Treville looked up sharply as d’Artagnan nudged his arm. He followed the boy’s gaze to where Eleanor stood.

“Damn him. Well we knew something was likely to happen.”

“Do you want me to go over there?” d’Artagnan made as though to move, but Treville grasped his arm, holding out his other hand to stop the others leaping forwards.

“Not yet, she asked us to let her fight her own battles tonight. Keep an eye on her, if she appears distressed in any way then get over there.” They nodded, somewhat reluctantly, and Treville sighed, hoping that Eleanor knew what she was doing.

“Will you excuse me, mademoiselle? I would very much like to talk to Madame Ardoin.” Eleanor heard the voice, as smooth as silk, but nowhere near as pleasant. Gabrielle squeezed her hand once before releasing it, Eleanor did not know where Lucille was. “Madame Ardoin.” He took her hand, kissing it, and Eleanor felt her stomach turn.

“Lord Rochefort.” Eleanor fixed a polite smile on her face, fighting every instinct that told her to snatch her hand back. For a moment, she wished Athos was beside her, but she knew she needed to face this man on her own.

“You knew me?” he sounded surprised, and she pressed her advantage.

“I feel I would recognise your voice anywhere, my lord.” He still had not released her hand.

“Such enchanting dancing Madame, you are the height of elegance, especially considering your choice of partners.” He paused; she could feel his eyes roving over her. “One questions their suitability for the task.” Eleanor smiled graciously, gently withdrawing her fingers from his grip. She laid a hand on his arm, feeling his muscles tense at the calm gesture. She would not retreat from him.

“I must express my gratitude, my lord, for both you and the Cardinal seem to have nothing but my best interests at heart. Both of you seem most concerned with the company I choose to keep, and I can only imagine you worry for my welfare. It’s a wonder you find the time, being such great and busy men.” She squeezed his arm; she could feel the pulse of his blood under her fingers. “Fear not though, they are better company than many found closer to home.” She gave a conspiratorial smile, almost daring him to disagree with her.

“I wonder, Madame, if I could tempt you to a dance,” his voice had kept its smooth coolness, and had she not been aware of who he was, she might have fallen into his trap. Instead, she inclined her head in gracious refusal.

“Oh, my lord, sadly I must decline. I must be very particular in my dance partners, and so far, only the musketeers have been equal to the task.” She felt his heartbeat quicken in anger, and removed her hand from his arm, keeping her calm composure.

“Eleanor, your father wishes to see you.” It was Aramis, one hand taking her arm gently.

“Good evening, Lord Rochefort.” Eleanor smiled, inclining her head once more.

Aramis did not wait for Rochefort to reply before leading Eleanor back through the crowd. He had been at just the right angle to witness the shift in Rochefort’s expression, and had moved before the others could stop him. He did not know exactly what had happened, or if Rochefort would try anything in such a public place. But he was not willing to take the risk.

“Are you alright?” he kept his voice low as he guided Eleanor through the other guests.

“I’m fine.” She squeezed his arm as though trying to reassure him.

“He didn’t look happy.” They had finally reached where the others stood.

“He asked me to dance, I declined.” Aramis saw the surprised looks on the faces of his friends and Captain. Athos reached out to take Eleanor’s hand, and Aramis released her.

“While subtly insulting him, I’ll bet.” Treville looked half exasperated, half amused.

“Perhaps a little.” A mischievous grin flashed across her face, and they could not help but smile in return.

The ball continued late into the night. Eleanor danced several more dances with both Athos and Porthos. Lucille and Gabrielle flitted back and forth like excitable butterflies, each of them dancing several times with the musketeers. Eleanor smiled brightly, laughing as she danced or conversed with guests. Rochefort did not approach again, but Athos saw his cold eyes on Eleanor several times. The ball was drawing to a close when Constance appeared, smiling at d’Artagnan as she slipped through the crowd.

“The Queen wants to see you both,” she said to Athos. He smiled at her and inclined his head, squeezing Eleanor’s hand, he led her through the crowds to the dais.

The Queen nodded at them as they approached, beckoning them closer so that she could speak to them.

“You have danced sublimely tonight, Eleanor.”

“Thank you, majesty.” Eleanor smiled as the Queen took her hand, drawing her closer.

“I think you have proved wrong all those who doubted you.” Anne squeezed Eleanor’s hand. Before Eleanor could answer, she felt both Anne and Athos stiffen beside her. As her hand was released, she heard a familiar tread.

“It surprises me still, that Captain Treville thinks a soldier a suitable companion for a…lady,” the Cardinal’s voice was soft, his pause once again exquisitely timed.

Eleanor raised her chin, standing straighter. “Be careful, your eminence, for those are the king’s loyal bodyguard you demean.” Her voice was calm, a flash of defiance in her face. Athos saw the Queen’s face darken.

“I only wonder at the suitability of soldiers…” Richelieu was the very picture of concern. Eleanor tightened her fingers on Athos’ arm, and he was surprised to see that her face was serene.

“Soldiers, yes, but in the musketeers, one can find company more loyal and gentlemanly than anywhere else. Even if one were to look to the highest reaches of society.” The Cardinal drew in an indignant breath, and Athos knew that Eleanor had hit her mark. “I hope you have enjoyed the evening, Cardinal, I know I have.” Eleanor gave her brightest smile, swept a deep curtsy to the Queen, and turned with Athos, leaving the Cardinal in gaping silence.

Eleanor managed to keep herself contained until Athos had led her to the gardens. As she felt the gravel paths under her feet, her laughter broke the cool air, joyful and free. Athos still laughed only rarely, but here, now, with the merry sound of her mirth floating about him, he felt his own laugh break free. They walked arm in arm through the gardens, relishing the peace of the outside, and the quiet of each other’s company. The fountain trickled and bubbled as they approached it. Athos led Eleanor to it, and they sat on the cool stone. Her laughter had died away, and Athos could see her turning something over in her mind.

“A palace is a strange thing,” she mused, “it’s magnificent, the very air is gilded and grand.”

“But…” He watched her face, there was something else.

“There’s an unhappiness here, a lack of freedom, every word or action is noted for advantage at a later date. For all the splendour, it’s little more than a gilded cage.”

“Cage or not, you have had victory here tonight.” He knew he would not pull her thoughts from her by demanding them.

“It would seem so,” her voice was distant, preoccupied.

“They wanted battle and you brought them war; your victory is clear.” A small smile graced her features. “What troubles you?”

“Now I have had my victory, I have a decision to make.” Eleanor caught her lower lip between her teeth.

“Tell me,” he kept his voice steady.

“I must decide between remaining in Paris,” she paused, tugging on her hair, “or going back to Gascony.”

“A difficult choice to make.” Athos kept his voice as neutral as he could, but knew it was not perfect.

“They each have their merits and downfalls. In Paris, I am within reach of the King, the Cardinal and Rochefort; there to be used for entertainment, curiosity, and malice. But I enjoy being close to my father, to the three brothers I appear to have acquired, and to you.”

“Is that list in order of importance?”

“Don’t be foolish, you know very well it wasn’t.” Eleanor’s cheek lifted in a half smile and she reached for his hand.

“And what does the country have?”

“A great deal less scheming and politics for one thing. It has peace and quiet, but-” she paused again, “-it does not have you.” Eleanor chewed her lip, her hands twisting in the deep blue of her skirts. “Athos tell me, this…what’s between us…if I go back to the country, does it end?”

Athos looked at her sharply, her words made him uncertain. The thought had lingered in a dark corner of his mind that Eleanor would not always be happy with merely a lover, that she might want more and sooner than he was able to give it. He had not dismissed the idea, but it was not something he could yet provide. Would he lose her? The thought turned him cold. With a great effort he forced himself to keep his voice level.

“I don’t want to give you up, but I cannot follow you to Gascony.”

“I know that, and I would never ask it of you, you belong here. I know there are things you can’t give; love has wounded you too deeply. But I am happy to take what you can give, and to give you all I am in return.” Eleanor took a deep breath. “Do you want me to stay?”

“I would not presume to make your choice for you.” He wanted to beg her to stay, to fall to his knees, but he would not force her to a decision.

Eleanor said nothing, her face expressionless. Athos had the impression he had disappointed her somehow. After a moment, she shook her head and smiled, as though shaking something off.

“There is still a great deal to think on.” Eleanor shivered, and Athos realised how cold the night air had grown. A clock chimed in the darkness; it was the early hours of the morning. “Let’s go home.” She took his hand once more, and they made their way back through the quiet gardens.

When they returned to the house, Athos took her hand, leading her up to his room as he had wanted to do since he had first seen her that evening. The night sky was clear, allowing the light of the full moon to illuminate the room. Eleanor kissed him deeply, full of promise and longing, drawing him in so that his senses were filled with her. Athos inhaled the delicate lavender scent as his fingers moved over the fastenings of her dress. Her lips moved hungrily over his skin, making his breath catch. Finally she stood in her chemise, the fine linen fluttering around her in the soft breeze from the window. Athos reached for the ribbon that held the chemise and Eleanor closed her hand over his, her fingers warm on his as he released the knot. The light garment slipped down, brushing the curves of her body as it pooled around her feet.

Eleanor reached up, feeling for the pins that held her hair, Athos watched in wonder as her pale arms raised, deepening the delicate curve of her back. The long pins came away, and the shining tresses tumbled free as though joyous in their release from captivity. The fiery wave cascaded down over her alabaster skin, the ends caressing her waist, and a small smile graced her features at his hitched breath. Athos looked at her, ethereal, beautiful, her skin almost translucent and her hair shining in the moonlight. For the moment, she was his, she had chosen him. He reached for her, her skin soft under his fingers, and she stepped towards him, the warmth of her running through him.

She made love to him, wrapping her body around him as though she could not hold him close enough. As the moon tracked across the sky, flooding the room with light, Athos lay in her arms, his body trembling against her. Eleanor ran her fingers through his hair, remaining awake long after sleep had claimed him. In the still darkness, she inhaled the scent of him, a single tear rolling steadily down her pale cheek.


	31. Chapter 31

Spring sunlight spilled into the room the next morning as Anna ran a comb through Eleanor’s hair. The housekeeper eyed her charge in the mirror; she was pale this morning, her eyes shadowed. Although Anna had expected her to be tired after the late night, she had not expected her to be downcast.

“Are you not feeling well, child?”

“I’m fine.” Eleanor toyed absentmindedly with the necklace she had worn the previous night, trailing silver and pearls through her fingers.

“Well I never heard a statement with less truth to it.” Anna laid a hand gently on Eleanor’s shoulder. “Have you quarrelled with your young man?”

“No, I just…Anna, will you take me to the garrison?”

“Of course, child, why?”

“I need to talk to my father.”

“We’ll go at once.” Anna bent down, kissing the top of Eleanor’s head, relieved to see the smallest hint of a smile on the face of her charge.

The four inseparables were sat around the dining table when Anna and Eleanor entered the room. They had been granted a day of leave by Treville; the ball had finished late and very few musketeers were required today, for the King had no intention of going anywhere. They looked up as the women entered, surprised when Eleanor made no move to sit, following Anna instead towards the door.

“Will you not have something to eat, Eleanor?” Aramis was frowning.

“I’ll eat something later,” Eleanor’s voice was level, but there was an air of preoccupation about her. She reached out, finding Anna’s hand.

“You’re going out?” Athos made as though to stand.

“We won’t be long, you finish your breakfast.” Anna fixed him with a look, warning him to remain exactly where he was. Athos stayed in his seat, thinking it best to do as instructed.

Treville sat at his desk flicking through papers that he had neglected in the run up to the ball. The yard outside was quiet, the majority of the regiment taking advantage of their free morning. He was surprised to hear footsteps on the stairs, lighter than any musketeer, even Aramis. Treville listened carefully; those were the steps of a woman if he was not much mistaken.

There was a soft knock on the door, so light and hesitant that he might have missed it if he hadn’t been listening for it. The heavy door opened slowly, pale, graceful fingers appearing around the edge of it, followed a moment later by Eleanor as she stepped fully into the room. Treville could tell as soon as he laid eyes on her that something was not quite right; her ordinarily fair face was pale, and shadows lingered under her eyes. He was not sure if she had not slept or if she had been weeping.

“Eleanor, are you alright?” Treville rose from his chair, frowning in concern.

He had not expected to see her today, thinking that she was sure to be tired after the ball and likely to spend the day with the inseparables, who would indulge her every whim. Even if he had been planning to see her, Treville would have expected her to be jubilant, victorious, glowing, for everything had gone as planned at the ball. Her dancing had been without fault, she had taken power from the Cardinal, and made a useful acquaintance in the form of Lucille. When he had seen her leaving the ballroom with Athos, she had been smiling and serene. He had not expected to see her pale and fragile.

“May I speak with you, Father?” To anyone who did not know her, Eleanor’s voice would have sounded steady and calm, but Treville could hear the tremble beneath.

“Of course you can, come, sit here.” He took her arm and led her to a chair, she allowed him to guide her without objection. “You didn’t come here on your own?”

“No, Anna brought me.” Her hands were clasped tightly in her lap, as though, by gripping one with the other, she could hold herself together.

“What’s troubling you, Eleanor?” Treville pulled a chair so that he could sit just in front of her and placed a gentle hand on her arm.

Eleanor took a deep breath, steadying herself.

“You know I’ve been thinking about going back to Gascony?”

“Yes I do, what are your thoughts on it?”

“I haven’t decided yet,” she took another breath, her fingers twisting about each other. “But last night, I spoke to Athos about it, I…I asked him if he wanted me to stay.”

Ah, there it was.

“And what was his answer?”

Treville wondered if they had argued. It wouldn’t be the first time and it was nothing unusual amongst couples, God knew he had ducked his share of flying crockery during his marriage. But Athos and Eleanor’s disagreements did not tend to last long, and she had never come to him over them.

“He said he would not make my choice for me.”

“Well it is yours to make.”

“I know that, I just-” she broke off, sighing deeply. Abruptly she stood, finding the desk and beginning to pace along it. Treville watched her, knowing the silence was not one he should break. Eventually, she spoke again, forced calm in her voice. “He made no objection to my thoughts of leaving, not even a preference that I might stay. I…does that mean he doesn’t…that he doesn’t care…” her voice caught and she broke off, one hand clutching at her bodice as though trying to hold herself together.

Treville rose from his seat and reached her in two strides, enfolding her in his arms. He stood for a moment, holding her, he could feel her fighting her tears. Kissing her hair he released her and led her back to her chair.

“Athos cares about you deeply, whether he says it or not. I have known him for years now, and I’ve seen him silently carry pain, betrayal and hurt, pushing it all aside for duty and loyalty. He has all but sunk into hell and almost drowned himself in the bottle. But in all the time I have known him I have only seen peace in his eyes once, and that is when he looks at you. He laughs with you when I’ve never known him laugh before, and God knows his drinking has lessened. I think in some ways, you are holding him together and allowing him to heal from the hurts of his past.”

Tears had begun to roll down her cheeks as he spoke.

“I would stay in a heartbeat if he asked.” Treville looked at her, realisation dawning on him.

“You’re in love with him.”

Eleanor nodded, her breath shuddering as her tears flowed freely. Treville realised with a jolt that this was new territory for his daughter. Her marriage had contained many things, but never love, or even affection. She knew nothing of how it felt to love a man, or be loved by one. No wonder her usual astute observations were clouded.

“All the time he wanted me I was happy to take whatever he could give…but if he won’t ask me to stay…if he can’t…” her sobs overtook her, her shoulders shaking. Treville slipped out of his chair, kneeling on the floor in front of her.

“Listen to me, he wants you to stay, but he won’t force your hand. Athos wants nothing more than for you to be safe and happy, and if staying here will go against that then he won’t force you.” Treville ran his thumbs over her cheeks, brushing the tears away. “This is your choice to make, my dearest girl, but don’t run back to Gascony because you’re not sure of his love for you.”

Eleanor drew in a shuddering breath and nodded.

“Thank you, Papa.” She reached for him and he pulled her into his arms again, holding her close and wondering what effect his words would have on her.

Porthos sat alone in the dining room, his elbows resting on the table as he swirled his ale with one hand. He was puzzled by what had happened this morning; Eleanor had been distant, something else hidden beneath her calm expression. Porthos did not know exactly what it was, but he knew something had upset her. Athos had not remained long at the table after Anna had led Eleanor from the house, standing suddenly and disappearing upstairs. Porthos had exchanged glances with Aramis and d’Artagnan, each of them sensing that something was amiss, but uncertain as to what could be done.

He looked up as he heard the door of the house open then close again, soft footsteps sounding in the hall. Anna entered the room, Eleanor just behind her and Porthos greeted them. He saw Anna squeeze Eleanor’s hand before she made her way towards the kitchen, leaving the girl alone with Porthos.

“You want something to eat?” Porthos watched Eleanor as he spoke, her expression was still somewhat distant.

“I’m not hungry.”

Eleanor made her way around the table, her fingers brushing the backs of the chairs. She stopped when she found her customary seat next to Porthos and sat down, dropping into the chair with a sigh and a great deal less than her usual grace. One hand rested on the table and she brushed her fingers over the grain of the wood.

“You alright?” his voice was a soft rumble.

“Not really.”

“Wanna tell me?”

“Not really,” Eleanor was not sure she could voice her new fears, not yet.

“Wanna just sit here?”

Eleanor nodded, feeling a great rush of affection for Porthos. He had understood her need for silent, reassuring company, without pressing her to talk to him. She found his arm, linking hers through it and resting her head against his shoulder. One large hand closed over hers and she felt him rest his head against her hair.

They sat quietly for some time, each listening to the other’s breathing and taking comfort from the presence of the other. Porthos’ reassuring bulk steadied Eleanor’s fears and soothed her worry, giving her courage for what would come next. For Porthos, having her beside him was calming; even if she was not quite herself, her warmth beside him was peaceful.

Eventually, Eleanor squeezed his fingers before carefully disentangling her arm from his.

“Thank you, Porthos.”

“Nothing to say thank you for, I’m always happy to sit with you, you know that.” He thought she looked, if not happier, somewhat calmer. She smiled, reaching for his hand and squeezing his fingers.

“Where are the others?” That wasn’t quite what she was asking, but he was not going to point it out.

“Aramis and d’Artagnan are in the study, Athos is upstairs.”

Porthos saw something flash across her face and knew he had been right. Eleanor stood, resuming her usual grace and poise. She turned to leave, brushing a hand over his shoulder as she did so.

Aramis stood by the bookshelves with d’Artagnan, browsing the leather-bound volumes for something new to read. They both looked up as soft footsteps sounded from the hallway. Eleanor paused in the doorway, but said nothing. Her head was turned towards the stairs, her expression distant. They watched as her fingers moved, almost as though she was brushing the air. A few moments later, she was gone, her soft steps sounding on the stairs.

“She’s not very happy, is she?” d’Artagnan kept his voice low, worried that Eleanor might yet catch his words.

“It would seem not,” Aramis had not shifted his gaze from the now empty doorway. “Something has happened between them, I’m not sure what it is though.”

“Do you think we’re in for another shouting match?”

“I think it’s entirely possible and that we should remain out of the way.” Aramis turned back to the bookshelves, determined to remain out of the line of fire he was sure was coming.

Eleanor made her way up the stairs, her fingers trailing along the bannister. She stopped on the top step, gripping the smooth wood of the bannister, her stomach twisted and she dragged in a deep breath to steady herself. She felt as though she was about to step off of a precipice, with nothing beneath her except empty air. Would he catch her? Would the answers she received be the right ones?

Taking another deep breath, Eleanor crossed the hall and reached for the door.

Athos had lain on his bed ever since he had left the table, not wanting his brothers to catch a glimpse of his thoughts. Aramis could be annoyingly perceptive at the best of times and Athos felt that his defences were too low to keep his normal neutral display in place. His thoughts had swirled back and forth, replaying the conversation he and Eleanor had had in the gardens in the early hours of the morning. Had he driven her away? He ran a hand through his hair, his movement shifting the sheets and releasing the scent of her once more. Athos breathed in the smell, remembering the feel of her in his arms mere hours before.

He heard quiet footsteps in the hall and a moment later, the door of his room opened. Eleanor stepped into the room, looking almost as hesitant as she had after their ordeal at the hands of Marlon. Athos sat up, watching her face as he swung his legs from the bed, she was pale, and he thought that perhaps she had been crying. She looked as though she was steeling herself for something.

“I need an answer to what I asked last night-” her hands twisted together, “-I need to know if you want me to stay.”

“I told you, I cannot make your decision for you.”

“I’m not asking you to-” Eleanor waved her hand impatiently, “-I’ve already made my decision, I just…I need to know if it’s the right one, whether you care enough to tell me-”

“Care?” Athos leapt to his feet, striding towards her. “How could you think I don’t care? I care for you so deeply that it leaves me terrified. I need you so much that it hurts and the very thought of losing you sickens me. If I thought I had the right to influence your decision then I would have been on my knees at your feet. I am bound to you, no matter what you decide to do.” He had spoken almost without drawing breath, laying himself bare before her and now his breaths came harsh and ragged. He realised he had grasped her arms as he spoke and released her, pressing his palms against the wall to steady himself.

For long moments, Eleanor said nothing, and he thought he had said too much. She reached for him, her fingers questing up his chest and to his cheek. There were tears in her eyes.

“Of course you had the right to tell me what you wanted, I wanted you to tell me, not to force me into a choice, but to help me make one.”

“You said you’ve made your choice?” Her hand was warm against his cheek, he needed her answer.

“I have.”

“Say it, you have to say it.” Fear chilled him, mixing with the faintest spark of hope.

“I’m staying in Paris, the peace of the country is nothing compared to you…if you still want me.”

“Have I not said as much?” He placed his hands on her cheeks, tilting her head up towards him. “I am bound to you, all the time you will have me.” He felt as though he could not breathe, relief crushing his chest.

“I need you,” her fervent whisper made his breath catch.

Eleanor’s fingers ran over the back of his neck, making him shudder and he gave in to the gentle pressure of her hand, ducking his head to kiss her. She twined her fingers in his hair, hungry for him as he pressed her against the wall, his need for her made all the greater by her words and his admissions.

Whether it was the sheer weight of relief or something else, Athos could only ever remember parts of what happened over the next hours. Her body, so familiar under his hands and mouth, was still a wonder to him. He could remember his name on her lips, half murmured like a prayer. He remembered her kissing him deeply, as though it were the first and last time. She rose above him, her hair a cloud of fire around her and he could not tell if she was demon or angel as she dragged her name from his lips, half choked cry, half sob.

As he lay entangled with her, Athos knew that Eleanor had taken complete power over him, and he had surrendered himself to her. She could demand anything of him and he would give it; but he knew that she would not, knew that she would never ask anything that he did not want to give. Athos had never thought he would lay his soul bare again, but this time, he felt it might just be safe in her keeping.


	32. Chapter 32

“Are you certain this is what you want? I don’t want to upend your life completely.” Treville frowned as he studied Eleanor.

“Of course I’m sure,” a smile lit her face, “if it’s what she wants then you must.”

He had put his suggestion to her with trepidation, despite his feeling that it would be well received. She had been the last one to hear his tentative plan, yet it all hinged on her agreement. He had discussed it with Porthos first, trying to gauge if it was even possible. The big man had thought on it for a while and had clearly discussed it with his brothers, for there had been a small invasion of Treville’s office as they expressed their support. Only Athos showed any reticence, unsure if he would be suited to the suggestion and stating that it was Eleanor’s choice to make.

So Treville had asked his daughter and she had taken to the idea immediately. He had heard her discussing it with Athos, and although they had not argued, the talks had been long. Eventually, even he had been convinced. Anna of course, was delighted.

It seemed the matter was settled, but he had wanted to check one last time.

“In that case, I’ll be back later.”

Treville stooped to kiss her on the cheek before heading from the room. He made his way to the dining room where Porthos sat, tapping his fingers on the table in apprehension. Treville nodded as he picked his hat up from the table and Porthos grinned in answer, leaping from his chair and scooping up his own hat as he followed his Captain from the house.

They made their way through the city, the streets becoming shabbier as they neared their destination. Their conversation was sparse, each slightly nervous about what they were about to do. Eventually, they paused, each looking up at the entrance to the Court of Miracles. They glanced at each other, and Porthos gave a grin before leading the way.

The warnings began to sound as soon as they stepped through the archway, the tapping growing louder as they walked. Treville knew it was more for him than Porthos; the musketeer was a common enough sight in the Court, his friendship with Flea well known. The Captain, however, was another matter.

Flea appeared after a few moments and the clanging warnings ceased as she smiled in greeting. She had clearly been expecting them.

They followed Flea through the passages of the court until they came to an empty chamber. There was a small table with wine and cups set on it, three chairs sat nearby. Flea motioned them to two of the chairs and handed them each a cup of wine. She took a sip of her own, her eyes fixed on Treville.

“Porthos told me what you want to do. Tell me why.”

“Did he not tell you?”

“He did, but I want to hear it from you.” She put her cup down and faced him fully, her hands on her hips. “You say you want to bring her into your household.”

“That’s correct.”

“So tell me why. I’ve seen people do this before, then they get bored. What kind of life will you give her?”

“A comfortable one.”

“She’s not a trophy though, nor is she a pet or a jewel.”

“No, she’s a child who saved the lives of my daughter and one of my best soldiers; I owe her everything.”

He saw her face soften, the anger she had been ready with dissipating. She had been ready for a fight, and whatever she had expected him to say, it had not been this. She nodded and turned, stepping out of the room.

Treville and Porthos glanced at each other, and the Captain saw a grin on his musketeer’s face.

“She ain’t one to mess with,” Porthos cast an admiring glance in the direction Flea had gone.

“I’m not sure I know a single woman who is.” Treville drained his cup.

They both sat up as the door opened again and Flea stepped back into the room. She smiled and looked down. Jacquetta, holding onto her hand, smiled back at her.

“Porthos,” Jacquetta’s joyful squeal filled the chamber.

She released Flea’s hand and ran across the room, small feet flying over the floor. Porthos slipped off of the chair, dropping to his knees on the packed dirt floor as Jacquetta threw herself into his arms. He caught her, holding her securely against his chest as she wrapped her tiny arms around his neck.

“Hey, you.” He brushed a wild curl away from her cheek.

“Have you come to see me?” She had shifted back a little, gazing up at him with a bright smile.

“Even better than that; Captain Treville wants to ask you something.”

Jacquetta seemed to notice Treville for the first time, her smile dropping as she fixed her large, solemn eyes upon him. One small finger rose to her lips as she considered him carefully, her other hand remained entwined in Porthos’ jerkin. Treville could understand why she was wary of him, after all, the last time she had seen him she had ended up terrified and blood spattered. He too slid off of his chair, moving to crouch a short distance away from her.

“I’m very pleased to see you again, Jacquetta.”

The child regarded him a moment longer before bobbing her knees in a passable imitation of a curtsy. Treville could not help but smile as he dropped one knee to the floor, placed a hand on his chest and dipped his head. When he looked up again, she was smiling, clearly amused by the gallant gesture.

“Jacquetta, Captain Treville has something to ask you. But if you don’t like what he says then you can say no, alright? It’s your choice.” Flea stepped forwards as she spoke to the child.

Treville resisted the urge to shoot her a glare, realising that she was not trying to pre-emptively dissuade the child, but removing any obligation she might feel. Jacquetta looked at Flea, nodding but saying nothing.

“I wanted to ask you, Jacquetta, if you wanted to come and live in my house, with my daughter.”

“Is she little like me?” The question caught Treville off guard, it was not the one he had expected.

“No, she’s a grown up, like Flea, she wants to look after you, if you’d like that,” Porthos said.

“Is it different to here?” A small frown had appeared on her face as she thought.

“Very different, it’s not a big house but…” Treville trailed off, he did not want to insult Flea by disparaging where she lived.

“Are there lots of others there?”

“No, it would be you, Eleanor, that’s my daughter, Anna the housekeeper, Alice the kitchen maid and sometimes Porthos and his friends.”

“That’s lots less people than here.” She swung slightly on the spot, her finger still playing at her mouth.

“You’d have your own room.”

“I won’t have to share my blanket?” The question was matter of fact, the child completely unaware that she had just wrenched at their hearts.

“No, you get your own blankets,” Porthos brushed her wayward curls away from her face again. “Anna’s an amazing cook too, she’ll feed you up nicely.”

“What, with warm food?”

“Anything you want. Bet Captain Treville will even get you a new dress.”

“This one is small, look-” she lifted her thin arm to show them the too short sleeve, “-I grew.”

“You can have new dresses, new shoes, even a doll if you want one.” Treville hoped against hope that Jacquetta would accept his offer. He did not think he could stand to leave her here after this conversation.

Jacquetta looked from one to the other, clearly considering carefully. Porthos knew the kind of existence she had had, knew she would have witnessed the trading of favours and the smallest of things for the barest necessities. Finally, Jacquetta seemed to decide she had been made a good offer. She beamed at them both, her little face lighting up with joy.

“Yes please.”

Porthos rose to his feet, watching Treville’s shoulders sag in relief as he too stood. The big musketeer looked down as Jacquetta slipped her small hand into his. Treville had moved to talk quietly to Flea.

“Does she have any belongings?”

“Nothing of her own, only the clothes she’s wearing,” she watched as he nodded. “Here-” she held out a bag to him, “-it’s the reward you gave her, I was saving it for her.”

Treville paused in surprise. He had been certain the money would have been long gone. He reached out, pushing Flea’s hand back towards her. She raised an eyebrow at him.

“Keep it, without your help they would both be gone.”

She did not question him, but nodded in thanks, tucking the purse into a pocket. Her eyes drifted past him to where Porthos stood holding Jacquetta’s hand.

“Look after her, Captain.”

“She’ll want for nothing, I swear it.”

Treville looked back at Jacquetta, she looked up at him from beneath her wayward curls and beamed, reaching her free hand out to him. He could not help but smile as he took her offered hand and they walked from the court, the child skipping between them.

When they reached the street, Porthos leant down, scooping Jacquetta up into his arms. She giggled as he lifted her, her small arm draping over his shoulder. One hand came up and Porthos smiled at her as she brushed the brim of his hat.

“You wanna try it on?”

He saw a flash of uncertainty in her eyes before she beamed at him, nodding enthusiastically. Porthos swept his hat from his head and dropped it gently on top of the dark curls. Jacquetta giggled as the hat dropped down to her nose and Porthos chuckled as he tilted it back so he could see her face.

“It’s too big,” she giggled again.

“Yeah, not sure you’ll grow into it.” He lifted his hat from her, dropping it back onto his own head.

“How far away is your house?” Jacquetta twisted in Porthos’ arms, fixing her gaze on Treville.

“A few more streets away.” Treville smiled at her.

“Will she be happy to see me?”

“Eleanor will be happy to meet you…but she won’t be able to see you.”

“Doesn’t she want to?” Jacquetta frowned.

“Eleanor is blind, it means-”

“Oh, like old Thierry? Alright then.” Treville looked at her in surprise, taken aback by her easy acceptance. Porthos was not surprised, he knew what she would have seen in the court.

“Do you want something to eat?” She nodded eagerly and Treville paused at a market stall.

He turned back to them and Porthos felt Jacquetta tremble with excitement when she saw the bread and cheese he held. Treville tore off a chunk of bread and some cheese, placing it into her eager hands. She bit off a large chunk of cheese and tore at the bread. Porthos sighed fondly as he realised he would soon be covered in crumbs.

They continued through the streets, Jacquetta asking innumerable questions. Treville answered them all, smiling indulgently. He saw Porthos glance at him, almost as though the musketeer was afraid the child would try his patience. But Treville did not mind. The endless questions reminded him of Eleanor when he had spent precious time with her as a child.

Eleanor sat on the window seat, her hands twisting in her lap. Anna watched in amusement as she stood, pacing back and forth for a few steps before sitting down again. When Eleanor stood again, Anna decided to intervene.

“Anyone would think you were sitting on a pin cushion, child, for the love of God stay still.”

“I can’t, what if…what if she…”

“What if she doesn’t want to come?” Eleanor nodded and sat down. Anna sighed and stood, moving to place her hands on Eleanor’s shoulders. “Don’t fret, child, they will bring her here and we will give her a happy home.” She kissed the top of Eleanor’s head and pulled her into a hug.

A few minutes later, Eleanor’s head lifted as she picked up the sound of the door. She felt nervousness twist in her stomach and took a deep breath as Anna grasped her hand and led her from the room.

Porthos followed Treville down the hallway towards the dining room, Jacquetta still in his arms. The child’s stream of questions had ceased as they entered the house, and her solemn, dark eyes flicked around, taking in her surroundings. He felt her small hand grip the back of his collar securely and rubbed a reassuring hand up her arm. He knew how intimidating ordinary houses were to a child of the court.

Porthos had just set Jacquetta down when Eleanor and Anna entered the dining room. He was aware of the tight grip of the tiny hand on his fingers as Jacquetta eyed the two women. Porthos saw Anna’s eyes take in the child with the experienced eye of a woman who had raised several children. He had half expected the housekeeper to fall upon the little girl like a mother hen, but was relieved when she did not. He thought it might be too much.

Treville made his way across the room, to where Eleanor still stood in the doorway. He took her hand, guiding her gently around the table and glancing at Porthos where he stood with Jacquetta. Porthos crouched down, gazing into the child’s face, her eyes were wide with uncertainty.

“Go on, go say hello,” Porthos squeezed her hand and gave her a gentle push.

Eleanor paused at the head of the table, sinking gracefully to kneel on the flagstones. Jacquetta watched her, twisting slightly on the spot, and Porthos was about to give her another gentle nudge when she slipped her hand from his and took a tentative step, her natural curiosity taking over. Eleanor smiled as she heard the careful footstep and Jacquetta moved closer, drawn by the warmth of Eleanor’s expression.

“I’m Jacquetta.”

“Hello, Jacquetta, I’m Eleanor.”

Jacquetta reached out a small hand, brushing her fingers over Eleanor’s cheek.

“You’re pretty.”

“Thank you,” Eleanor’s smile grew, but she did not move to touch the child, afraid of breaking the tentative curiosity. She felt small fingers grasp hers and allowed Jacquetta to lift her hand. A moment later, she felt soft skin under her fingertips.

“Old Thierry told me he could see like this.”

“That’s true.” Eleanor brushed her fingers over the soft rounding of Jacquetta’s cheek and into the wild curling hair. The child giggled as Eleanor traced gently down her nose.

“That tickles.” She laughed again and Eleanor could not help but laugh in response.

“You’re very pretty, Jacquetta.”

Eleanor felt Jacquetta’s hand brush down over her hair where it had fallen forward. “I’ve never seen hair this colour before-” she stroked her hand down the fall of hair once more, “-it’s soft, like silk at the market. Can I brush it?”

“Of course you can, a little later though.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Jacquetta squealed happily and threw herself at Eleanor, wrapping her arms around her and burying her face in Eleanor’s hair. Porthos saw Eleanor’s momentary surprise before she smiled and slowly raised her arms to return the embrace.

“Would you like to see the rest of the house?” Treville spoke quietly. He had been hesitant to interrupt Eleanor and Jacquetta, but they could not stay on the floor all day.

“Can Porthos come?”

“Of course he can.”

“Then it will be time for something to eat and a bath. I’ve got some clothes for you too.” Anna stepped forwards, a motherly smile on her face that could not fail to win Jacquetta over, and a tone that was not to be ignored.

It was several hours later when Jacquetta had been fed, bathed and put to bed. Anna had dressed her in a little chemise that she had brought from home, along with several other small dresses. The clothes had belonged to her daughters, and as of yet, she had no granddaughters to hand them to. They were serviceable and would serve until new dresses could be made. Anna had delighted in fussing over Jacquetta, content to treat her as the granddaughter she did not have. She had exclaimed over her bare feet and too-small dress and had delighted in gently combing the tangles from her wild curls.

Porthos and Eleanor sat on the window seat, their backs resting against opposite walls, and their legs stretched along the length of the seat. Eleanor had kicked off her shoes, her stockinged feet not quite covered by her skirts. Porthos fancied he could feel her body heat where her leg lay side by side with his. Although their silence was comfortable, he could see Eleanor turning something over in her mind. He rested his head back against the wall, waiting for her to speak.

“How long are the others planning on staying away for?” Eleanor’s voice was soft, her head too, resting back against the wall.

“I think they were gonna give the little sprite a day or two to settle in,” said Porthos. “Athos might turn up tomorrow though.”

Eleanor’s face brightened, and Porthos knew he had guessed correctly about the answer she had truly wanted.

“Sprite, I like that,” she laughed softly.

“It suits her; looks like she’s about to flit away any moment.”

Eleanor smiled, and Porthos could see something else beneath the smile.

“Is she alright?” Eleanor began to run one hand over the other. “She seemed somewhat…overwhelmed.”

If anyone else had asked this, Porthos might have laughed, or scoffed if he was feeling particularly short-tempered. However, Eleanor did not have the knowledge that others in Paris did. She had lived most of her life comfortably in the country, and although she knew of poverty, he doubted anyone had taken the time to fully describe it to her.

“Ain’t a surprise really, it’s pretty different to what she’s used to.”

Porthos had seen the uncertainty in Jacquetta’s face as they had shown her the house, and her hand had tightened on his when they had come to the room that was to be hers. He had also had to convince her that the bowl of food placed in front of her was hers and hers alone, and that no one was going to snatch it from her.

“Yes I would imagine it is,” Eleanor paused, one hand still running over the other. “She felt so thin when I hugged her.”

“Not much to eat in the court. Flea did her best but…” he trailed off.

“But Jacquetta was not the only child in her care I would hazard.”

“Yeah, plenty of hungry kids there.”

“Poor things.” He saw anguish on her face.

“You can’t save ‘em all,” his voice was gentle.

“No, I can’t, but hopefully I can give Jacquetta a home where she is safe, I just hope she’ll be happy here,” Eleanor paused, chewing on her lower lip. “Will you tell me what the court is like?”

“Why?”

“I felt her uncertainty, I heard you telling her the food was hers. I want her to be happy, but I’m not sure care and love are enough. I want to understand her, to know how she lived.”

Porthos looked at Eleanor sharply, for once again she had surprised him. He had never known a woman, or many other people who had been interested in hearing about life in the Court of Miracles. Everyone in Paris knew of it, closed off, mysterious, and notorious. But they desired to know nothing of it, nothing of how those within its twisting passages lived. He wanted suddenly to spill details of how he had lived, what he had done to survive. At the same time, he wanted to protect Eleanor from the worst of it.

“I’ll tell you some of it, but you don’t have to worry.” At her questioning frown, he placed a hand gently on her foot where it rested beside him. “You asking me that shows just how much you already care. You’ve got so much love to give, you’ll be alright.”

“I hope so.” Eleanor reached forwards, her fingers stretching towards him. Porthos took her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “I think Athos is still worried that he’ll frighten her by accident.”

“He’ll be alright, if the captain ain’t scared her then nothing will,” Porthos chuckled, and Eleanor smiled. “Besides, it’s not like we’ve left him holding a baby like last time.”

“Now that is a story I feel I need to hear.”


	33. Chapter 33

Athos made his way to the house as the afternoon waned the next day. His stomach twisted and turned. He paused outside the house, his hand resting on the door handle. He could not remember the last time he had truly interacted with a child. It was true he had ridden away from the river crossing with baby Henri in his arms while his brothers provided distractions. Despite the child remaining blessedly quiet, Athos had been glad to hand him into the care of Constance. Children, however, were vastly different from babies.

Shaking himself, Athos drew a deep breath and entered the house.

Anna sat at the dining table, sewing needle in hand. She looked up at him over the fabric that lay spread across the table, shapes cut from it that he suspected by some craft unknown to him would be transformed into dresses.

“You are worried, Monsieur,” her voice was quiet. Athos supposed he should not be surprised at her observations any longer, her appraising gaze always discovering far more than he intended to give away.

“A little, perhaps.” He smiled at her.

“You’ll do fine, but not if you stand around here all day.” She raised an eyebrow at him as she slipped the needle into the fabric.

“You are correct as always, Madame.” Athos inclined his head and she graced him with a rare smile, looking back down at her work as he left the room.

Athos heard voices from the study and followed them, pausing in the doorway to take in the scene before him.

Eleanor sat on the polished floorboards, Jacquetta beside her. Sunlight bathed them, glinting on their hair. The child spoke and Eleanor smiled, turning her head towards Athos as she sensed his presence. Jacquetta’s happy chatter ceased as she too noticed him, and Athos found himself subject to a solemn, dark eyed gaze. Eleanor leant towards the child, brushing a hand over the dark curls.

“Jacquetta, this is Athos, he’s a good man.”

Jacquetta looked steadily at Athos, one finger coming up to brush her lips as she swayed on the spot. For a moment they merely stared at each other, then Jacquetta slowly stepped towards him. When she had nearly reached him, Athos dropped slowly to one knee, not wanting to frighten the child. She stopped just in front of him, and he was surprised when she reached out a hand, brushing her small, cool fingers down his cheek and into his beard. He stayed still, smiling just a little as she kept her hand on his face, seemingly lost in her own thoughts. After a moment her hand moved and she took hold of his scarf, tugging it gently so that one end was pulled from beneath his jerkin.

“This is the one I found.” Her gaze met his, her hand not releasing his scarf.

“It is indeed, and for that I owe you a great deal.”

Jacquetta tilted her head to one side, returning his smile.

“Eleanor’s hair is pretty.”

“You are correct.” Athos wasn’t sure where that comment had come from, but he wasn’t inclined to disagree. He could see Eleanor smiling over Jacquetta’s shoulder.

“She let me comb it, you can help too.”

“Oh, I…” Athos was taken aback by the invitation.

“You don’t like combing hair?” Jacquetta looked at him with eyes so wide and dark that Athos felt he could not have refused her anything in that moment.

“If you wish me to help, then of course I shall.”

Athos knew he had given the right answer when her face broke into a bright smile. She grasped his hand and he barely had time to stand before she was pulling him to where Eleanor still sat. Athos knelt on the floor, brushing a kiss against Eleanor’s cheek. She smiled, and he knew she had missed him as much as he had missed her last night. A comb was pushed into his hand, and he looked down at Jacquetta where she had sat beside him.

“I brushed this bit-” Jacquetta stroked Eleanor’s hair where it been pulled forwards over her shoulder, “-but there’s lots to do.”

“Well let’s make a start on the rest of it then, shall we?”

Despite his words, Athos was not entirely sure where to start, he was certain that Aramis would be better suited to this task. But, if it endeared him to the child, well, he was sure he could manage.

“Here,” Eleanor’s voice carried a note of amusement and a smile lingered at the corner of her mouth. She turned so that she faced away from them and swept her hair back over her shoulder. It tumbled down her back in glinting waves, the ends brushing against the floor.

Athos put the comb down and sat, reaching out to gather her hair and smooth it so it at least faced mostly the same direction. Well that was a start. Eleanor had turned just slightly towards him over her shoulder, he could still see her cheek lifted in her smile. He paused, uncertain. Help came in the unlikely form of Jacquetta. Athos was taken aback as the child wriggled under his arm and settled herself unceremoniously in his lap.

“Anna said you have to start at the bottom.” She pointed and Athos dutifully picked up the comb.

He reached around the little girl, carefully gathering a handful of soft hair. He felt a small hand push itself into his, and allowed her to grip the comb alongside him. As they began to run the comb through the fiery strands, Athos felt himself begin to smile.

Treville pushed the door of the dining room open to see Anna holding up a small dress, examining it with a critical eye. She looked up as he entered, nodding at him before setting the dress down on the table and making a small adjustment. Sensing that she did not want to be disturbed, Treville made his way down the hall. He could hear Jacquetta’s happy chatter coming from the study and moved quietly, not wanting to disturb the cause of her joy.

In the doorway, he paused in shock.

Eleanor sat on the floor, one leg tucked up against her, her arms resting on her knee. He couldn’t see her face, but Treville could see that she was content. Athos sat on the floor behind her, and Treville blinked in surprise when he saw Jacquetta nestled on Athos’ lap. The child and musketeer were carefully running a comb through Eleanor’s hair, Jacquetta keeping up a stream of happy chatter, Athos periodically agreeing with her. Their attention was entirely absorbed with each other and their task, and Treville could not help but smile.

If anyone had told Treville a year ago that his most stoic, and possibly most dangerous soldier would be romantically tangled with his daughter, never mind that he would be sat on the floor combing her hair with a child, Treville would have assumed they had taken leave of their senses. However, he could not deny the evidence of his own eyes. As he watched, Treville thought it had been a long time since he had seen such a scene of mutual joy and contentment.

Aramis and d’Artagnan arrived at the house that evening. Treville was no longer concerned about Jacquetta being too shy to meet more than one musketeer at a time. The child was naturally curious and sociable. Besides, he thought, if she could charm Athos in such short order, the last of his inseparables were unlikely to prove a challenge.   
  
Eleanor was sat on the chaise when they entered the study, Jacquetta curled up beside her. There was a book open on Eleanor’s lap. They watched as Eleanor spoke softly and d’Artagnan was surprised to see that she periodically turned the pages.

“-and Tristan and Isolde’s love will always be remembered.”

“Were they always happy?”

“Not quite, but that’s a tale for another day.” Eleanor smiled and closed the book. “I believe we have more visitors, dearest.”

Jacquetta turned, noticing for the first time, d’Artagnan and Aramis. She slipped off of the chaise, giggling when Aramis swept his hat from his head and made a courtly bow. Jacquetta stood for a moment, considering the two musketeers, one finger brushing her lips. Finally, when d’Artagnan sank to one knee, she made her way over to him. He smiled at her, looking momentary surprised when she reached out a hand, brushing the ends of his hair. She spotted something on his jerkin and reached out, plucking something from the smooth leather.

“What’s this?”

“Oh, that’s a hair from my horse’s mane.”

“You have a horse?” Jacquetta’s eyes grew wide.

“Musketeers need their horses,” d’Artagnan could not help but smile.

“I’ve seen them lots, but I haven’t been on one.”

“Would you like to ride mine?” the offer was out of d’Artagnan’s mouth before he knew it, the wonder of the small girl in front of him irresistible. He was rewarded when her face lit up.

“Oh yes please.”

Once again, d’Artagnan was surprised when Jacquetta threw herself at him, her thin arms wrapping around his neck in a joyous hug. Ignoring Aramis’ grin, he hugged the child back, happy to have caused such boundless joy in such a short space of time.

While Jacquetta spoke to d’Artagnan, Eleanor heard Aramis make his way over to her and shifted her feet from the chaise so that he could sit down.

“I don’t remember Tristan en prose having such a happy ending,” Aramis voice was quiet, and she could hear the underlying amusement.

“I thought the traditional ending might be a little harsh for a child of five, but it’s the only story I could remember by heart.”

“A valid argument.”

Any reply Eleanor might have had was cut off when Jacquetta skipped across the room, small hands tangling into Eleanor’s skirts.

“d’Artagnan said I could ride his horse,” she was bouncing on her toes, almost vibrating with excitement.

“Well that was kind of him.” Eleanor reached out, finding the dark curls and brushing her hand over them.

“Are there more stories?”

“There’s something different in every book.”

“Will you read them all to me?” Jacquetta’s eyes were wide with wonder.

“Even better, you can learn to read them yourself.”

“Oh yes please.” Jacquetta’s hand brushed across the book in Eleanor’s lap. “Can you read me another one now?”

“Oh, I…”

Aramis saw Eleanor’s uncertainty and could not resist the huge, dark eyes that Jacquetta had turned on them.

“I think Eleanor is a bit tired, why don’t I read to you?” Jacquetta looked at him, thinking.

“Alright then.”

Eleanor reached out, grasping his hand in thanks and Aramis squeezed her fingers before rising from the chaise to follow Jacquetta over to the bookshelves.

That evening, they all sat at the dining table, candles bathing them in a warm glow and filling the room with the honey scent of beeswax. Anna had fed them well and they now picked at fruit and cheese, conversation flowing easily.

Jacquetta clambered off her chair and stood next to Treville, holding her arms up and blinking up at him. Without pausing what he was saying, Treville reached down, picking up the child and settling her on his lap. Although they did not pause in their conversation, each of the musketeers watched their captain from the corner of their eyes. They were used to him being fierce, strong, a warrior and leader. Although each of them was familiar with the fathering aspect of his personality; having been on the receiving end of his sage advice when they had needed it, or his discipline when they had behaved like adolescents, this was new. They were unprepared for this tender man who had, seemingly without thinking picked up a child and cradled her on his lap. One hand had wrapped around her back to steady her as she rested her head on his shoulder, the other had come to rest on her dark curls, the calloused, soldiers fingers seeming both out of place, and perfectly at home. As they watched, each of them had to remind themselves that of course, Treville had a daughter, and Eleanor’s childhood could not have been devoid of moments like this.

Athos slipped away from the table, returning a few moments later with a bottle of brandy and several glasses. He passed a glass of brandy to each of them and they sipped it as the conversation continued to flow, all of them enjoying the company of the others.

“I think she’s fallen asleep,” d’Artagnan’s quiet comment paused the conversation.

They all turned their gazes to Jacquetta where she still sat curled on Treville’s lap. D’Artagnan had been right, she had fallen asleep, one hand twisted into his shirt. Treville set down his glass and carefully gathered the sleeping child in his arms. Moving slowly so as not to wake her, he rose to his feet and headed for the stairs.

It was a few minutes later when Treville returned. “Well, she’s all settled down.”

“Hopefully she sleeps better tonight,” said Porthos.

“Did she not sleep last night?” Aramis reached for the brandy bottle.

“Not really,” Eleanor replied. Looking at her now, they could see she looked tired.

“Why not?” d’Artagnan was puzzled, he could not think of a reason that, having been presented with a comfortable bed, Jacquetta should have failed to sleep.

“It’s too quiet,” Porthos sat back as eyes fell on him. “The court’s noisy, people everywhere, all the time; she ain’t used to a silent house. She’ll settle down.”

“I hope so,” Eleanor’s voice was quiet, and not just because of her exhaustion.

Porthos reached out, squeezing her hand in reassurance. Eleanor squeezed his fingers in response, smiling when she felt Athos grasp her other hand.

“Captain, where am I stationed tomorrow?” d’Artagnan broke the silence.

“At the garrison I think, why?” Treville frowned.

“Bit eager ain’t you?” Porthos picked up his brandy, raising an eyebrow.

“No, I just…well if it’s alright with you, Captain, and you, Eleanor, I told Jacquetta she could ride my horse. I didn’t promise it would be tomorrow, but well, if there’s no objections?”

“As long as the King doesn’t need you then I don’t see why not.” Treville tried to hide his amusement at how quickly the child had won over the young musketeer, but he knew the corner of his mouth had twitched.

“Do you mind, Eleanor?”

“Of course not,” Eleanor smiled. “If she wants to go then why not?”

They continued to converse as the candles burned low, passing the brandy between them. Finally, one of the candles burned out and Porthos stretched and yawned.

“Time for bed I reckon.” The others murmured in assent, setting glasses down and making to rise from their chairs.

“Not for me yet,” Eleanor’s voice was quiet, her head lifted as though she had heard something.

“Is the sprite crying?” Porthos paused in his movements.

“Not crying but she’s up.”

As if on cue, they heard padding footsteps at the bottom of the stairs and Jacquetta appeared. Her hair was tousled and she rubbed one small fist sleepily over her eyes. She blinked at them and spotted Eleanor, moving to clamber into her lap.

“Can’t sleep.” Jacquetta buried her head in the warmth of Eleanor’s shoulder.

Aramis watched Eleanor as she settled her arms around the child, already looking exhausted. Although she showed no outward sign of it, he could tell she was not relishing the idea of another night of broken sleep.

“Perhaps I could read to you, Jacquetta?” Aramis gazed at the child as a large, brown eye peered at him.

“It will send you to sleep in no time, I promise,” Eleanor bent her head to talk to the child.

“One would almost think you were accusing me of being dull.” Aramis placed a hand to his chest.

“Soothing as opposed to dull and you know it.” Eleanor smiled before leaning her head down once more. “Would you like Aramis to read to you, dearest?”

“Yes please,” Jacquetta’s voice was small and tired.

Aramis stepped around the table as Eleanor slid Jacquetta from her lap. He held out a hand to the child and she stared at him sleepily for a moment before taking it and walking out of the room with him.

Some-time later, Eleanor ascended the stairs, her hand resting lightly on Athos’ arm. At the top of the stairs, Eleanor paused, her head tilted towards Jacquetta’s room. She slipped away, her feet light on the boards. Athos followed a few steps behind, coming to join her as she paused outside the half open door.

Aramis sat on the bed, his back against the wall and a book open in his lap. Jacquetta lay curled against his chest, her fingers twisted into his shirt. Aramis glanced up, smiling as he met Athos’ gaze, one hand coming up to brush a dark curl from Jacquetta’s cheek.

“I’ll stay with her for a while longer, you two get some sleep.”

“Thank you, Aramis,” Eleanor’s voice was soft and she smiled.

Athos took her hand, and nodding gratefully at Aramis, led her from the room.

The next morning found d’Artagnan making his way to the garrison, Jacquetta clutching to his hand. Athos walked on Jacquetta’s other side, Aramis and Porthos a few steps behind. The child chattered happily as they walked through the streets, jumping over puddles and occasionally taking skipping steps over the cobbles.

Aramis and Porthos watched in fond amusement as Jacquetta reached up and slipped her hand into Athos’, her small, soft fingers disappearing into his calloused palm. Their friend looked down, startled for a moment, before closing his hand around hers. Aramis thought he could see the smallest of smiles on Athos’ face, and could not help his own smile breaking out.

When they entered the garrison, eyes turned on them immediately. They could all see the question burning in the minds of their fellow musketeers. Aramis could not decide whether the main curiosity was the child herself or the fact that stoic, unapproachable Athos was holding her hand.

Jacquetta spotted Treville at the stairs, and blissfully unaware of the stares, ran across the courtyard. He caught her as she flung herself at him, lifting her easily as he continued his conversation with Mikel and Guillem. Aramis saw the same mild surprise that he and his brothers had experienced the previous evening flash across several faces.

“Nice to see we weren’t the only ones he surprised,” d’Artagnan turned over his shoulder to them, his voice low.

“Not everyone’s surprised though, look,” Aramis nodded to where some of their fellow musketeers appeared completely unphased.

“Yeah, well, they got their own kids haven’t they,” Porthos shrugged.

Aramis looked over at some of the musketeers who looked un-surprised, yes, Porthos was right; Remy, Marc and Jermaine all had wives and children of their own. It made sense that they understood this automatic reaction of a father to a small child. Shrugging at each other, the four of them made their way over to Treville and Jacquetta.

“Jacquetta is my daughter’s ward,” Treville was saying as they approached. He had clearly decided to put his curious soldiers out of their misery, and perhaps stop a rumour mill before it began.

“d’Artagnan said I could go on his horse,” Jacquetta grinned at Mikel and Guillem. The two young men smiled and nodded with the uncertainty of those who were not accustomed to young children.

“Come on then, you,” d’Artagnan reached out, taking Jacquetta from Treville and making his way towards the stables.

They watched as d’Artagnan introduced Jacquetta to his horse. Together, he and the child collected saddle and bridle, d’Artagnan taking the time to explain everything to Jacquetta. The horse stood patient and quiet as she was tacked up, nosing curiously at the new visitor to her stall. Jacquetta’s giggles rang across the courtyard as the horse nudged her and she fell backwards into the straw. Athos, Treville, Aramis and Porthos all caught themselves smiling. It was a few moments later when they realised they did not care if their fellow musketeers noticed.

A short while later, d’Artagnan led his horse from the stable, Jacquetta skipping along beside him. Her small face was alight with anticipation as she looked up at the horse. D’Artagnan halted the horse and stooped down, lifting Jacquetta and settling her carefully in the saddle. He took a few moments to ensure her grip on the saddle was secure before taking the reins and slowly leading the horse on.

Athos watched as d’Artagnan walked the horse around the courtyard. He felt the smallest twist of worry as he watched Jacquetta shift slightly in the saddle. Frowning, he shook himself, there was no reason he should worry. The child was perfectly safe. Bending his head over his pistol once more, Athos smiled again as Jacquetta’s laughter echoed around the courtyard.

Evening was drawing in when d’Artagnan made his way back through the streets, Jacquetta’s small hand enclosed in his. He had walked around the courtyard for an hour, leading Jacquetta on his horse. She had been delighted the entire time, asking endless questions and laughing brightly. She had overcome her initial unsteadiness in the saddle, settling to the movement of the horse with the ease of the young. When he had eventually managed to persuade her down from the saddle, she had blinked at him until he had let her help him brush his horse. Jacquetta had spent the rest of the day flitting around the garrison, merrily living up to the affectionate name that Porthos had bestowed on her. D’Artagnan and his brothers had watched in fond amusement as she had won over several other musketeers over the course of the day, even some of those who had initially looked alarmed when the child had approached them. When she was tired, she had curled up on the bed in Treville’s office, sleeping peacefully as swords clashed in the courtyard below.

D'Artagnan felt the slightest tug on his hand and looked down. Jacquetta had stumbled slightly, clearly exhausted by a day full of excitement.

“Do you want me to carry you?”

“Yes please, I’m a bit tired.” She rubbed a fist over her eyes.

“Come on then, I’ll put you on my shoulders.”

D’Artagnan bent down, lifting her up so that she sat on his shoulders. He felt her hands on the top of his head, small fingers slipping into his hair.

“It’s like being on a horse again,” Jacquetta appeared to have perked up. She giggled and kicked her small heels gently against his chest. “Go horse go,” she giggled.

D’Artagnan looked up and down the street, there was no one else around after all.

“Alright, but no telling the others.” Grasping her hands to hold her steady he quickened his pace, the delighted laughter making him grin like a fool.


	34. Chapter 34

Aramis hastened through the streets, pulling his hat low against the early autumn air. People seemed too close, too buoyant. Shouts of celebration tore through him. In the distance the church bells rang, each joyous toll sounding like a funeral knell. After what seemed like an age, Aramis saw Treville’s house. Anna was just leaving, he waited until she was gone before crossing the square. He could not face her appraising gaze, not now. Finally he was inside, he pushed the door closed and set his back against it, glad to be away from the streets. He breathed the cool, quiet air of the house. The very act of entering this quiet haven had taken the smallest edge off of his pain. But that was not enough.

“Aramis?” Eleanor had just emerged from upstairs as he entered the dining room.

“Is Athos here?” Aramis knew he sounded abrupt, he could see it in her face. She did not look alarmed or offended, but he could see her thinking.

“None of the others are here, they’re at the palace I think. I’m surprised you’re not with them,” her voice was soft.

“I had a day of leave,” Aramis dropped his hat on the table. “Did you hear the bells?”

“It’s rather difficult not to,” Eleanor smiled, “the Queen must have given birth to a healthy son.”

“Not a daughter?” Aramis wondered how she knew, he hadn’t yet heard if the child had been a girl or a boy.

“The bells don’t ring that long or that joyously for a princess.” Eleanor paused, her smile dropping. “Aramis are you alright?”

Damn her perceptiveness.

“I’m fine.”

 _Well that wasn’t convincing_.

“Paris is celebrating, yet your voice is an odd mixture of relief and sadness.” Eleanor stepped around the table, frowning. Aramis watched her fingers trail over the backs of the chairs.

He couldn’t tell her. His son had just been born and he needed to talk to Athos.

“I’m sorry, I’m not fit company for you tonight.” Snatching his hat from the table he turned for the door.

“Aramis wait.” He turned, Eleanor had stepped closer. “Please, don’t go.”

“I can’t tell you, I’m sorry.” He wanted to shout with joy, to run to the palace and see his child, to weep for himself and the Queen. But he could do none of those things.

“You don’t have to, but I don’t think you should be alone, please, stay.”

Eleanor held out her hand.

Aramis hesitated for a few moments. If Athos was at the palace then he could not talk to him. Perhaps she was right and staying here might just be better than drowning himself in a bottle. In the dim light, her pale skin seemed luminous. He could let her be a light in this darkness. Aramis took her hand and followed her from the room.

Eleanor said nothing as she led him into the study and over to the window seat.

“Here, you don’t have to talk to me, I’ll just sit with you,” her voice was soft, reassuring. She would not press him.

Aramis sat down, a rush of gratitude filling him.

“You’re a good woman, Eleanor.”

She gave a soft laugh. “Do tell d’Artagnan, I think I’ve convinced him I’m not an intransigent daughter, but another view always helps. Stay here, I’ll be back in a moment.” She turned and left the room, her fingers trailing over furniture and walls as she walked.

A few moments later, her soft footsteps re-entered the room.

“Here, you need this tonight.” Aramis looked up, Eleanor was holding a bottle of brandy and a glass.

“Thank you.”

Aramis took the brandy, drinking deeply as Eleanor sat beside him. He rested his elbows on his knees, setting the glass down beside his foot. They sat in silence as the night filled the study. The bells still rang across the city, each peal a new blow. Aramis felt as though a fist had closed around his heart, crushing mercilessly. His misery welled up inside him and, try as he might he could no longer keep it inside. He felt his breath catch and tears welled, unbidden in his eyes. Running a hand over his face, he tried, without success to control his shaking breaths.

Aramis was surprised when he felt a weight across his shoulders, a moment later, Eleanor’s other hand brushed his face. He half expected her to ask him what was wrong again, but she did not. Instead she pulled him to her and held him as he wept.

Athos slipped quietly into the house, trying not to let the door make too much noise as it closed behind him. It was really too late to be coming back, he ought to have stayed at his own lodgings, or the garrison. But he had wanted to see Eleanor, to sleep beside her quiet warmth. He felt he had neglected her over the last week, for Aramis had needed his company and guidance. She had known he would though, he had seen it in her face when he had arrived at the house to find her sat on the window seat with Aramis. Eleanor had risen, greeting him with a gentle kiss before whispering that Aramis needed him and slipping softly away.

He made his way slowly through the house, only a single lamp in the hall lighting his way. For a moment he paused, one hand on the bannister, relishing the quiet of the house.

The kitchen door opened and Athos spun, reaching for his sword as a figure appeared in the doorway. It took a moment before he realised it was Anna, and he breathed again.

“Mother of God, Monsieur, you scared me half to death,” she still had one hand to her chest in shock.

“My apologies, Madame, I did not mean to frighten you.”

“Tsk, no matter-” she eyed him appraisingly, “-if you’re heading up to see Eleanor you may find a guest in your bed.”

“Madame?”

“The little one had a nightmare, I was about to go up but Eleanor beat me to it, I don’t think I’ve ever seen her move so fast. She has quite taken to the role of mother to that child.” In the dim light, Athos could see Anna’s smile.

“So it would seem.”

Although he had not wanted to admit it, one of Athos’ worries about Jacquetta being brought here was that Eleanor might no longer care for him as she once had. But he had come to realise his fear had been a foolish one; Eleanor had great capacity for love and, if anything, it had been increased. He felt ashamed that he had underestimated her.

“Jacquetta has missed you over the last days.” Anna began to untie her apron.

“I’ll see her in the morning, I’ll sleep in the other room if-”

“Oh no you don’t, go to Eleanor’s bed, she has missed you too.”

“But if Jacquetta’s there…” Athos frowned as Anna smiled.

“Believe me, it won’t be the last time that child ends up in your bed after a nightmare. Get used to it. Now go on, off with you.” Anna flapped the apron at him.

“Once again, Madame, your advice is invaluable.” Athos inclined his head once more and she huffed, flapping the apron at him once more.

When Athos slipped into the room that he and Eleanor shared, he saw that Anna had been right. There was just enough moonlight to show the two sleeping occupants of the bed. Eleanor lay on the far side, she slept peacefully, despite being near the very edge of the bed. Jacquetta slept next to her, dark curls tangling over the bolster. Athos pulled off his jerkin and boots, studying the pair of them. He had missed them both, he realised that now.

As he pulled back the covers, Athos paused, one eyebrow raised. Jacquetta was sprawled across most of the bed, tiny limbs splayed in all directions. Carefully, he eased her towards the centre of the bed, holding his breath as she shifted in her sleep.

_How could something so small take up so much room?_

Finally, he was able to gain a space on the bed and settled himself carefully, unsure of how much sleep he would get that night. Even in her sleep, Eleanor seemed to sense him, her arm reaching out over Jacquetta and her hand settling on his ribs. Smiling, Athos slowly stretched out an arm, returning the embrace. Perhaps he might sleep after all.

Eleanor woke to the sound of rain drumming on the window. She could feel the warmth of Jacquetta next to her, the child’s soft breathing mingling with the sound of the rain. Beneath those sounds, Eleanor could also hear other breaths, and warmth filled her as she recognised Athos. His breathing was not the deep, regular rhythm of sleep though, but caught a little, as though he were uncertain. Eleanor opened her eyes, shifting a little.

“I didn’t expect to find you here this morning,” Eleanor kept her voice low, not wanting to wake Jacquetta.

“I didn’t want to spend another night away from you,” although the fondness in his voice was evident, his breath hitched.

“Are you alright?”

“Jacquetta has her fingers tangled in my beard.”

“Ah, oh dear,” Eleanor could not prevent her soft laugh, “here, let me help.”

She slowly reached over Jacquetta, feeling for her hands. Very carefully, she disentangled the child’s fingers, trying very hard not to laugh.

Athos winced as he was finally freed. He could see the corner of Eleanor’s mouth twitching.

“It’s not funny.”

“It is a little,” Eleanor’s smile softened. “She’s missed you, so have I.”

“I’ve missed you both.” Athos gently brushed a wayward curl from Jacquetta’s cheek. Guilt twisted inside him, it was not only Eleanor he had neglected over the last days.

“How’s Aramis?”

“He’ll be alright eventually.”

“Jacquetta has missed him too, she wanted him to read to her.” Eleanor placed a hand on the small arm beside her, an almost unconscious gesture of protection.

“I’ll tell him, it might help,” Athos paused, resting his hand over hers. “I think he’s worried you might discover the source of his pain.”

“Not unless he tells me himself. You know, but I would hazard it’s not your secret to tell.”

“You’re right that I can’t tell you. I think he’s more worried you’ll figure it on your own, your perceptiveness is uncanny at times.”

“It’s not something I can snuff out like a candle you know,” the half amused look dropped from Eleanor’s face, sadness replacing it. “The pain in him would have been impossible to miss, it was almost as though he grieved.”

“He just needs some time.”

Athos brushed his fingers over her cheek, he truly had missed them both.


	35. Chapter 35

Aramis hesitated, his hand on the door. He had avoided the house over the last week, not wanting his melancholy to infect those inside. It was Athos who persuaded him out of his rooms, informing him in no uncertain terms that his absence had upset Jacquetta and that he could not hide away forever. Taking a breath, he opened the door.

Eleanor was in the dining room, a glass of wine in her hand. Aramis had feared that her expression would be full of concern, or worse, pity. He did not think he could cope if it was. But when she turned to him, her expression was soft and welcoming.

“Aramis.”

“How do you always know?” It seemed like a safe opening to a conversation.

“You all have your own way of opening and closing the door.” Her smile was soft, she was content to let him lead the conversation wherever he wanted it to go.

“Where’s Jacquetta?”

“In the study, she likes to look at the books, even if she can’t read them yet.”

Aramis watched as Eleanor smiled, more to herself than to him.

“She makes you happy.”

Eleanor nodded, a glow of contentment seeming to run through her. “She’s filled a part of my life that I didn’t know was empty.”

“You’ve never wished for a child?”

“I might have done if I had been graced with a kind husband, but I could never bring a child into Luc’s household.” Her faced had hardened just for a second and Aramis realised how foolish his question had been.

“I’m sorry, I should have realised,” Aramis paused, Eleanor’s face had softened again. “I’m glad she makes you happy.”

“I think I’m most content when she’s falling asleep-” Eleanor shook her head as Aramis laughed, “-no, not like that. There’s something wonderfully peaceful about holding a sleeping child, their peace and innocence soothes you.” She lapsed into silence, seemingly lost in her own thoughts.

“I think I’ll go and find Jacquetta.” Aramis made his way around the table, pausing next to Eleanor. “I never thanked you for your company, I was not myself, I’m sorry.”

Eleanor reached out, finding his arm and then his hand.

“There’s no need for thanks or apology, you’ve done the same for me many times.” She squeezed his fingers, smiling once more. “Go to Jacquetta, she’s missed you.”

Later, as he sat on the window seat, a book in his lap and Jacquetta curled against his side, Aramis realised Eleanor had been right. There was something soothing about a sleeping child. Looking down at her, Aramis felt some of the pain of the last few days ease. He may not be able to see and hold his own child, but there was no reason for him to neglect this one.

Treville watched as the King gave his blessing for the marriage of a Comte’s daughter to a young Marquis. The marriage was likely more than any the girl or her father could ordinarily have hoped for, and Treville had his suspicions that the Cardinal had engineered it, for a steep price too most likely. Treville presumed the girl would be happy, she certainly smiled demurely in thanks, he just hoped her marriage lived up to her expectations. A brief spur of guilt bit at him as he remembered that marriages did not always bring joy. He had been lucky, his daughter had not. Treville shook himself, Eleanor was happy now, that was what mattered.

The Comte bowed and his daughter curtsied, thanking the King once more. Louis waved his hand and they turned, leaving the room.

“I do like it when nobles are grateful, it’s so annoying when they whine.” The King turned to his advisors, pleased with himself.

“He should be grateful, Sire, the match is a good one for the family,” Richelieu hid his pleasure a little better, but Treville fancied he could see a smirk. “Such an obedient daughter, if only all women were as such.”

“What on earth do you mean, Cardinal?” Louis looked amused as he glanced between Cardinal and Captain.

“Only that not all men have perhaps as much control over their daughters as they should,” his smirk in Treville’s direction was obvious now.

At the edge of the hall, Treville saw the almost invisible bristling of his four best soldiers.

“You can’t mean Madame Ardoin, surely?” Even the oblivious monarch had not missed the smirk.

“One cannot deny that the lady is hardly under Captain Treville’s control.”

Richelieu flicked his gaze towards where Athos stood, unmoving and impassive. Treville knew that no one else would see that spark of anger in the carefully neutral eyes of his best soldier. The others were not so practiced at concealment; Aramis’ jaw was clenched, Porthos looked as though he was about to punch something, and d’Artagnan clutched the hilt of his sword.

“Well, Treville, what do you say to that?” the King looked up expectantly.

Treville stepped forward, smiling. He knew the Cardinal wanted anger, but he would not give him the satisfaction.

“Your Majesty, I can either fulfil my duty as Captain of your Musketeers, or I can control Eleanor. To do both is impossible.”

The King clapped his hands gleefully.

“Well said, Treville, I don’t think I’ve ever met such a rare creature as your daughter. Well if it’s all the same to you, Cardinal, I think I’ll keep Treville busy controlling my musketeers as opposed to his daughter.”

Treville smiled again, bowing his head as the King stood and left. Richelieu scowled, it was clear he had hoped to discredit Eleanor, and by extension, Treville.

Silently chalking up his victory, Treville turned to leave. He alone noted the smallest smirks on the faces of his four inseparables as they turned to follow him from the room.

Athos walked through the crowded streets, people moving out of the way as they spotted his uniform and purposeful walk. The sun was not quite setting, Athos had slipped away from the garrison as soon as Treville had dismissed them. He knew his brothers would arrive at the house later, eager for Anna’s cooking, and hoped for an hour or two with Eleanor and Jacquetta before they arrived.

The late autumn evening was unusually warm, the breath of winter still held at bay, and a soft breeze picked up the scent of the lavender Athos held. He could hear voices from the study as he set his hat on the dining table. Jacquetta’s giggle sounded through the house and Athos smiled as he made his way towards the sound.

Jacquetta was in the centre of the room, laughing as she spun in and out of a shaft of sunlight. The beam shone on her raven curls as they tangled around her and Athos could not help but smile. Eleanor stood alongside her, one hand stretched out, Jacquetta’s fingers brushing hers as the child spun.

Jacquetta spotted Athos and gave a wordless squeal of joy, running across the room on bare feet. In what had become an automatic response over the last months, Athos caught her as she flung herself at him, lifting her onto his hip. Jacquetta wrapped her arms around his neck, fingers tangling in his hair as she pressed a kiss to his cheek. Athos brushed a finger down her cheek as he carried her across the room. He ducked his head, brushing a kiss to Eleanor’s cheek in greeting, feeling her hand coming to rest on his arm.

“Can I show him, Mama?”

“Of course you can, dearest,” Eleanor smiled, “Jacquetta has learnt a new skill.”

“Show me then.” Jacquetta wriggled from his arms and skipped back to the beam of sunlight. Athos turned to Eleanor as the child danced away. “She called you Mother?”

“For the first time this morning.” Eleanor seemed to glow, a smile at the corner of her mouth.

Athos could not help but let her happiness affect him. He pulled the sprigs of lavender from his pocket, tucking them gently into Eleanor's hair.

“I'm ready to show you,” Jacquetta’s voice tore Athos’ attention away from Eleanor and he turned to watch her.

Frowning a little in concentration, Jacquetta grasped her skirts. Athos watched as she sank into an almost perfect curtsy, wobbling only a little as she rose back to her feet. Athos recognised the same lowering of shoulder and head that were always present in Eleanor's curtsies. In Eleanor, the movement could be turned to flirtation or disdain, both of which Athos enjoyed watching. In Jacquetta, the movement was delivered with the care of a new skill, not yet turned to purpose. Athos had no doubt she would learn in time.

Jacquetta looked at him, nervous as she waited for his reaction. Athos smiled at her, nodding in approval.

“Well done, very elegant.”

Jacquetta beamed at him, swishing her skirts back and forth.

“She'll be dancing in no time.” Anna had appeared in the doorway, smiling fondly at Jacquetta. 

“I want to dance,” Jacquetta skipped over to the housekeeper, grinning beatifically. 

“I'm sure they'll teach you,” Anna brushed a hand over the dark curls.

“Now?”

“Not just now, dearest, it takes a long time to learn,” Eleanor smiled at the child's enthusiasm. 

“You should watch them dance before you learn, little dot,” said Anna.

“I'm sure we can manage that.” Athos had not yet learned how to ignore Jacquetta’s wide, dark eyes. He promised himself he would, but for now, this was a whim he could indulge.

“Of course we can,” Eleanor smiled, laying a hand gently on his arm.

“Yay,” Jacquetta’s joyful cry was reward enough for anything.

“Come along, little dot, we'll sit over here and watch.” Anna took Jacquetta’s hand and led her to the chaise. As she settled onto the seat, Jacquetta clambered up into her lap, wriggling with excitement. 

Athos took Eleanor's hand, guiding her to the middle of the space. He bowed and Eleanor curtsied, her hair catching the light as she dipped her head. They moved together, and Athos heard Jacquetta gasp in joy as Eleanor spun in a wave of flying skirts and hair.

Anna held onto the child in her lap, fearing she might slip in her excitement. Jacquetta spoke, unable to tear her eyes away from the graceful display.

“Will they teach me how to dance like this?”

“This and many other dances I would imagine,” Anna gave the child an affectionate squeeze.

“There's others?”

“Many.”

“Do they all look like this?” Jacquetta waved a small hand.

“Not all, but they're all special when Athos and Eleanor dance.” Anna watched as Eleanor spun again. She always enjoyed watching them dance. They looked perfect together, each movement matched to the other.

“Why?”

“Because they love each other deeply, it always makes a dance special.”

Jacquetta’s attention was caught as Athos lifted Eleanor, holding her high before setting her down gently. They completed their dance, bowing and curtsying once more. Jacquetta clapped her hands gleefully and wriggled from Anna's lap as Athos led Eleanor over to them.

“That was pretty,” she beamed up at them.

“Thank you, dearest,” Eleanor smiled, Jacquetta’s joy was contagious. 

Jacquetta took hold of Athos other hand, almost swinging from it as she fixed her large eyes on him. 

"Can you dance with me a bit, please, Papa?"

Athos felt as though his breath had stopped in his chest. He heard Eleanor’s quiet gasp. The world seemed to pause as Jacquetta's last word echoed in his ears. _Oh God_. For a moment he thought he might have misheard her, lots of words sounded like papa, didn't they? No. They did not.

An elbow dug into his ribs. Anna had stood and crossed behind him.

"The lady's asking, Athos," Eleanor's voice was soft, she knew the word had been a shock.

Athos looked down at Jacquetta, he could not refuse her.

"Of course I will."

Jacquetta squealed with joy as Athos took her hand, spinning her around the room.

The autumn evening had darkened by the time Treville arrived at the house, Aramis, Porthos and d’Artagnan following behind him. They sat around the table, enjoying the meal Anna laid out for them as conversation flowed easily.

It was growing late when Jacquetta slipped from her chair and padded around the table to where Athos sat. She clambered up into his lap, burrowing her head into his shoulder.

“I’m sleepy, Papa.”

Athos heard the sharp intakes of breath from Treville and his brothers followed by heavy silence. He kept his gaze firmly on the dark curls, determined not to see the looks the others were undoubtedly exchanging.

“Come on then, time for bed.” Athos carefully took her in his arms, standing and heading for the stairs.

Athos stayed with Jacquetta long after the child had fallen asleep. He heard the others as they left or made their way to bed. Gently he brushed his fingers over Jacquetta’s cheek, her sleeping innocence was soothing. He had not wanted to re-join the table, knowing that the others would tease him. He would stay here until the house was quiet.

When Athos awoke he could tell the sun had not yet risen. He groaned, his sleep had been disturbed, thoughts chasing round his head unendingly. Without opening his eyes he rolled over, seeking Eleanor’s warmth. She shifted in her sleep as he wrapped his arm around her, nuzzling against the back of her neck. In his half-woken state, Athos felt her fingers entwine with his, her body shifting as he kissed her neck and shoulder. For some time they lay pressed together, soft rocking of hips their only movement and quiet sighs the only sound. Still only half awake, Athos’ breath hitched as Eleanor shifted against him. She hummed in contentment as his hand roamed down her body, gathering the fine linen of her chemise. Athos sighed contentedly as he felt the bare skin of her leg, warm and soft under his hand. Not for the first time, Athos marvelled that such a woman had chosen him. Forgetting for a moment his disturbed sleep, he buried his face in Eleanor’s hair, wanting to forget all but her.

Treville was surprised to hear footsteps in the yard. He looked out of the window, the sun was only just rising, he wouldn’t have expected any of his men to have emerged yet. He was certain he recognised the tread. Sighing and tucking his shirt into his breeches, Treville walked out onto the balcony.

The autumn air was fresh and chill, light mist still clinging to the grey dawn world. Ordinarily, Treville would have stood for a few moments on the balcony, relishing the quiet of the morning before the tramp of boots and clash of metal. He had always enjoyed the dawn time. He had often risen early when Eleanor was young, slipping into the nursery while she slept. There he would watch his sleeping daughter as the first light filled the room, partaking for a few moments, the peace of her innocent sleep.

Athos was in the stables, running a brush over the fiery coat of Eleanor’s mare. He did not turn as Treville approached. The horse flicked her ears as Athos murmured softly to her. Treville lent on the stable door, waiting quietly. Finally, his best soldier turned towards him.

“Didn’t expect to see you here so early.” Treville studied Athos’ face, searching for a clue. He knew something bothered the man, he just wasn’t sure what yet. 

Athos said nothing, not meeting his gaze. Treville sighed quietly. _Playing that game are we?_

“Come on, my office.”

Treville turned away. He did not have to look behind him to know that Athos would follow. No matter his mood, the man would obey. He was leant on his desk when Athos entered the room. He watched as Athos sat heavily in one of the chairs, his usual lazy grace appearing to desert him.

“Right, it’s too early to pour brandy down your throat to make you talk, so I’m just going to ask. What is it?”

Athos sat for a moment, Treville could tell he was struggling to put what was bothering him into words.

“I…Jacquetta, she…” he trailed off, resting his elbows on his knees.

“She started calling you father?” Athos nodded. “Is it something you don’t want?”

“No, I…” Athos stood, pacing away for a few steps before turning back. “I had half a thought that she might one day. But now she has-” he ran a hand through his hair, “-how can I be a father to her? After all I’ve done. I’m not a fit man to be father to an innocent-”

“Do you care for her?” Treville’s question brought Athos up short, stopping his flow of self-doubt.

Treville watched a myriad of emotions flow behind the blue eyes as Athos considered the question and what it meant. Finally he spoke.

“I would burn the world to keep her safe,” his voice was low and fervent, his eyes burned.

“Well there you have it. You’re not a bad man, in fact you’re one of the best men I know.” Athos made to speak and Treville held up a hand to silence him. “You have all the qualities of a good father, you just had the misfortune of never having the chance. But Jacquetta has chosen you, as has Eleanor, they want to love you.”

“I feel as though I don’t deserve it.”

“I wouldn’t question Eleanor’s judgement on that score if I were you. Your past doesn’t make you undeserving of them. Accept their love, it’s already soothed some of your wounds, it might heal the rest of them in time.”

Treville stepped forwards, placing a hand on Athos’ shoulder as his soldier nodded in wordless thanks.

When Aramis ambled into the garrison a little later, he saw Athos sat at the table. Porthos and d’Artagnan had not yet arrived. Porthos had met with Gabrielle the previous evening after he had left the house. D’Artagnan had left for night duty at the palace, where, Aramis suspected he would make good use of his proximity to Constance.

“You left early, Eleanor said you were gone when she woke up.” Aramis dropped onto the bench beside Athos, eyes travelling over his friend as he reached for an apple.

“I awoke early.” Athos drank from the cup he held, not looking at Aramis.

“And snuck out of the house because you’ve been avoiding us since you took Jacquetta to bed last night.” Aramis paused, Athos did not look at him. “Did you think we’d tease you?”

“The thought had crossed my mind.”

“What do you take us for?” Athos raised an eyebrow. “Alright, fair point. But really, even I wouldn’t tease you about that.”

“Why not?” Athos sounded a little wary, as though the lack of teasing were a concern.

“Because Jacquetta’s love for you is to be treasured, not mocked, the same goes for Eleanor.” Aramis placed a hand on Athos’ shoulder. “You’ve been in darkness for so long, my friend, Eleanor is-”

“If you’re about to be poetic and call her the moon-”

“Nothing so quaint. But if you want a metaphor, then I’d say she’s the North Star; she’s been a bright, constant guide for you, allowing you time to heal and leave some of the night behind you.”

“I knew you’d start spouting poetry.”

“Well you mentioned it first.” Aramis grinned as Athos sighed in good natured exasperation.

“Fine. If Eleanor’s the star, what’s Jacquetta?”

“Oh she’s a sunbeam and no question about it.”


	36. Chapter 36

Porthos sat on the floor of the study carefully placing another block onto the pile in front of him. Jacquetta sat across from him, another wooden block in her hands. Frowning in concentration, she reached out, setting the block on top of the others. The blocks teetered, then toppled.

“Oh,” Jacquetta’s face crumpled.

“It’s alright, Sprite, we’ll build them again,” Porthos smiled at her, trying to alleviate her upset.

“Alright then,” Jacquetta reached for the blocks, pausing when Porthos’ stomach gave a growl. “Are you hungry?”

“I’m always hungry.”

“I’m hungry too.”

“Let’s go find something to eat then.” Rising to his feet, Porthos took Jacquetta’s hand and led her towards the kitchen.

When Athos entered the house with Aramis and d’Artagnan, he found Porthos and Jacquetta sat at the dining table. Crumbs littered the table, and the remains of a loaf of bread sat on a board beside an earthenware pot. Jacquetta grinned happily at them, her cheeks bulging.

“Hungry were we?” d’Artagnan raised an eyebrow.

Jacquetta swallowed her mouthful, her feet swinging happily under the table.

“Porthos gave me bread and honey.”

“And you’re clearly enjoying it,” Athos smiled and bent down to kiss Jacquetta’s dark curls as she took another large bite.

“On your own?” Aramis looked around as he unbuttoned his jerkin.

“Anna’s at the market, Eleanor’s out with Treville,” said Porthos. He stood, brushing crumbs from the front of his shirt.

Aramis nodded, draping his jerkin over a chair before joining d’Artagnan at a side table where a jug of wine and several cups sat. Athos and Porthos joined them, each picking up one of the cups d’Artagnan had filled.

“Oh, there they are-” Aramis gestured towards the window, they could see Eleanor’s bright hair across the square, “-Eleanor’s on her way back, little dove, oh good lord…”

The others turned back to face the table, following Aramis’ wide gaze. They each stood speechless at the sight that greeted them, uncertain of what to do.

Eleanor smiled as she walked beside her father, her arm linked with his as they made their way through the streets. The winter afternoon was crisp, the almost metallic taste of frost on the air. She had enjoyed the afternoon with her father, and their trip had been fruitful. The cool air felt refreshing against her face, her cloak keeping the chill from becoming a discomfort. Today everything had seemed perfect, each scent and sound making her feel all was right with the world.

“You think she’ll like it?” Treville sounded worried, as though he were doubting himself. Eleanor could tell he was looking at the package in his hands.

“She’ll adore it, don’t worry.” Eleanor squeezed his arm, resting her head briefly on his shoulder as they walked.

“I hope so.”

They had continued to walk back to the house, meeting Anna on the way as she came back from the market. When they entered the house, Anna fussed quietly, taking Eleanor’s cloak. Treville grinned as she muttered about catching chills and taking better care. Eleanor smiled serenely, not seeming to mind the fussing. She’d been quietly peaceful all day, seemingly lit by her own inner warmth.

“-she’s yours after all, Athos,” Porthos’ voice drifted down the hall.

“I believe the situation is your doing, Porthos,” Athos’ tone was flat.

“We were all here.”

“Yes but you were watching her,” Aramis interjected.

“What do we do?” d’Artagnan sounded worried.

“Ideally something before we get caught,” Aramis’ voice was a mix of fear and amusement.

“What on earth are they squabbling about?” Anna whispered furiously.

“I’m not sure I want to know,” Treville’s voice was low.

“Honestly, Monsieur, they are like children, these soldiers of yours.”

“Believe me, Anna, I’m well aware,” Treville sighed as they made their way down the hall.

“What are you all up…oh sweet heavens.” A guilty silence followed Anna’s exclamation.

“There was a small…accident, Madame,” said Athos.

“Yes, I can see that.”

“I swear we only looked away for a second,” Porthos sounded contrite.

“Long enough it would seem,” Anna’s disapproving tone was a contrast to Jacquetta’s giggle. “I’ll go and set some water heating.”

Eleanor heard her leave the room and the shuffling of the feet of four musketeers.

“Dare I ask?” Eleanor stepped tentatively forwards.

Aramis sighed, “Porthos gave Jacquetta some bread and honey-”

“And we all looked away for two seconds,” Porthos interjected hotly.

“And somehow…well…” d’Artagnan trailed off.

“Somehow most of the contents of the honey jar ended up on Jacquetta as opposed to the bread?” Treville sighed in quiet exasperation.

“Mama,” Jacquetta squealed delightedly and Eleanor heard her bounce across the room.

Eleanor crouched down, and listening carefully, was able to hold out her hands to stop Jacquetta leaping at her. Carefully she brushed her fingers over the child. She felt the tackiness of drying honey over her face, where one might expect it. However, the long curls were also full of sticky patches, and clean patches of dress were few and far between.

“Oh dear,” Eleanor could not help but laugh.

“I like honey,” Jacquetta was bouncing on her toes.

“It’s even better if you eat it, dearest.”

“Yeah she ate quite a lot first,” Porthos still sounded contrite, but a hint of amused fondness had crept in.

“So I can tell,” Eleanor could feel Jacquetta almost trembling with pent up energy.

Footsteps sounded in the hall and Anna marched into the room.

“Right, come along, I’ve got the water ready and you four can carry it upstairs.”

Anna had clearly given them all such a look that they had decided it was in their best interests not to argue with her. Eleanor could not help but grin as she heard them troop out of the room as Anna led Jacquetta away for a much needed bath. Eleanor felt for a chair, careful to check that it too was not covered in honey before she sat down. She heard Treville sit beside her.

“I think her new doll might have to wait,” he said.

“You can give it to her once she’s clean.”

“Why I ever leave them unsupervised I don’t know,” Treville sighed again, but his tone was fond.

“And they’re your best soldiers,” Eleanor smiled.

“For my sins, yes.”

They both laughed as footsteps sounded on the stairs. A few moments later, the men in question trooped back into the room. Eleanor smiled as Athos brushed a kiss to her cheek.

“May I say, Eleanor, you are looking particularly beautiful today, the cold weather suits you.” Aramis had taken her hand and kissed it.

“Thank you, Aramis,” Eleanor smiled at him.

Treville gave a huff. “Right, you lot, get this table cleared up, God help you if it’s still a mess when Anna comes down.”

For the next few hours, the house was filled with Jacquetta’s squeals and laughter. Anna had brought her down from her bath, declaring that as the musketeers had allowed her to eat so much honey, they could now deal with the wriggling ball of over-excited child. The musketeers had chased Jacquetta all over the house in what appeared to be a never-ending game of tag. She had squealed with joy whenever one of them caught her, clutching her new doll to her as they swung her round.

After what seemed like hours, Jacquetta had finally run out of energy. Athos had left her curled in Treville’s lap, still clutching her doll. He suspected she might not be awake by the time the evening meal was served.

When he entered the study, Eleanor was sat on the window seat. In the soft lamplight, Athos could see her shoes laying on the floor where she had kicked them off, her stockings beside them. A lock of hair had dropped forwards, resting at the base of her throat. The fiery red sat perfectly against her marble skin and in that moment, Athos thought he had never seen anything so alluring. He made his way towards her and leant down, catching the lock of hair on his finger and brushing it aside just enough so that he could kiss the fair skin it had lain on. Eleanor let out a breath and Athos raised his head pressing his lips gently to hers. Eleanor’s cheek was flushed, but she smiled as he pulled away and sat beside her, one hand resting on her bare foot. Aramis had been right; she was especially beautiful today.

“Have you worn her out?” she sounded amused.

“I’m not sure who wore who out.” Athos smiled as he brushed a hand over his face, he felt as though he could sleep for a week.

“Oh dear, the four finest musketeers run ragged by a child,” Eleanor laughed softly.

“She’s exhausting at times.”

“I’m well aware,” Eleanor paused, “but if you think one child is exhausting, wait until there’s two.”

Athos smiled briefly, then her words hit him. He felt the smile drop from his face as he tried to process what she had said. Did she mean what he thought she meant? He looked at her, the smallest of smiles played at the corner of her mouth. He continued to stare at her, unable to speak. After a few moments her smile faltered.

“Athos please tell me that’s a shocked yet pleased silence?”

Realising he had not yet reacted, Athos shook himself.

“I…yes, forgive me, you caught me unawares.” He reached for her hand, still trying to process the weight of what she had told him. “You’re certain?”

“I am,” her smile had returned.

“Have you told anyone else?”

“Not yet, well, Anna knows, but I think she knew before I did.” Eleanor smiled and Athos let out a breath of laughter.

Speech deserted him once more and he tentatively reached out a hand. His fingers hovered for a moment, he was almost afraid. Ever so gently, he rested his hand on Eleanor, terror and wonder holding equal sway within him. She smiled, resting her hand with his over the place where their child grew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One last chapter after this my darlings xx


	37. Chapter 37

Athos woke as early sunlight filtered into the room, outside he could hear the first sounds of the city waking up, hooves and cartwheels clattering on the cobbles. Breathing deeply, Athos turned towards Eleanor’s warmth, propping himself on one elbow. She still slept, her hair tangled around her, her lips slightly parted. As he watched she shifted, the smallest of frowns appearing on her face.

Slowly, Athos reached beneath the cover, running his hand over her ribs and down over the swell of her belly. He started a little as he felt a push back against his palm. Even though he had felt it many times in the months since Eleanor had first pressed his hand to the shifting, fluttering kicks of the child, each new movement was still a small wonder in itself.

Eleanor groaned and shifted, the still new ring on her hand glinting as she laced her fingers with his.

“Is it morning already?” she groaned again, burying her face in the bolster.

“It is.” Athos smiled as Eleanor groaned again. “Did you not sleep?”

“Not well, your child kicks harder than my horse,” she huffed as Athos chuckled.

He leant down, kissing her cheek as another kick landed against his hand.

“Perhaps you can sleep a while longer.”

“No I can’t, Jacquetta’s awake,” Eleanor sighed and made as though to sit up. Athos placed a hand on her shoulder, pressing her back against the bolster.

“I’ll take her downstairs, you rest.” He kissed her hair before rising from the bed and reaching for his clothes.

Eleanor sighed drowsily and nodded, her face pale. Athos brushed his fingers over her cheek before leaving the room.

As he pulled the door softly closed behind him, Athos saw the small figure emerging into the hall. Jacquetta had grown in the year she had lived with them, although still slight, there was a healthy roundness to her cheeks. She spotted Athos as she rubbed her eyes sleepily, padding towards him on bare feet. She raised her arms as she reached him and he picked her up. Jacquetta was still warm from sleep as she wrapped her arms around his neck, burying her face in his shoulder.

“Where’s Mama?”

“She’s resting, come on, we’ll go and find some breakfast.”

Eleanor listened as Athos took Jacquetta down the stairs, smiling as the sound of their voices faded. She gasped in pain, one hand moving over her belly. After a moment the pain stopped, and she breathed deeply, settling back against the bolster. Perhaps she could rest, just for a while.

Anna set another loaf of bread down, smiling fondly at the man and child sat at the table. Jacquetta sat on Athos’ lap, bare feet swinging happily as she chewed. Bread crumbs spilled over both of them, but Athos did not seem to mind as he brushed a hand over Jacquetta’s dark curls. Anna looked at the musketeer for a moment. Although he appeared to be paying attention to the child he held, his movements were automatic, something distant in his eyes making the faint lines around them deeper this morning.

“Are you well, Monsieur?”

Athos looked up sharply, as though she had jolted him from his thoughts. After a moment he kissed Jacquetta’s hair and rose, depositing her in the seat he had been occupying. Jacquetta did not seem to mind, instead she reached for an apple, humming tunelessly to herself.

Anna followed Athos into the hall, concerned at his apparent unease.

“What on earth is the matter?” Anna looked him up and down, he seemed well enough.

“I suspect I’m being foolish, Madame, but Eleanor…” he trailed off, running a hand through his hair.

“Is she well?”

“She didn’t sleep, she said it was just the child kicking but…”

Anna laid a gentle hand on his arm, smiling softly at him.

“She still has some weeks before her time, I suspect the babe is just trying to find a comfortable position, sadly Eleanor pays the price of that.”

Athos sighed, he knew he was being foolish and he was grateful to the housekeeper for her patience with him.

“I must leave for duty soon. If Eleanor becomes unwell-”

“Then I will care for her. Do not fret, Monsieur.” Anna squeezed his arm and he nodded in thanks before making his way back up the stairs.

Eleanor shifted as Jacquetta chattered happily beside her; it was becoming difficult to find a comfortable position, even on the chaise.

“I’m sorry, dearest, what was that?” Eleanor realised Jacquetta had asked her a question.

“Can we go see Grandpapa today?”

“Of course we can, we’ll go the garrison one you’re dressed.”

“Are you sure you want to go, child? Your young man said you hadn’t slept.” Anna had stepped into the room.

“He’s just worrying, Anna, I rather feel like going for a walk.”

“Alright, I’ll walk with you to the garrison, I have other things to do in town today. Come on, little dot, let’s get you dressed.”

Jacquetta obediently slipped from the chaise and Eleanor heard her follow Anna from the room. As their voices faded, another wave of pain struck Eleanor. Her breath hitched, then released as the pain subsided.

“It’s rude to kick people, you know,” she murmured as she rubbed a hand over where the child grew. Slowly, she moved her hands in steady circles over her belly, humming softly. Sometimes, this had calmed the blows from within and she hoped it might again.

Athos stood beside d’Artagnan, watching idly as courtiers lounged under the shade of a pavilion. Servants moved back and forth bearing pitchers of cool drinks. Constance drifted over to them, her fan beating fast in an effort to stave off some of the heat. A servant followed her, a tray in his hands.

“Her Majesty asked me to make sure you drank something.”

“Our thanks to her Majesty,” Athos nodded graciously.

Constance gestured to the servant, who offered the cups on the tray to the musketeers. They took them, drinking deeply. It was only water, but it was cool and refreshing.

“How’s Eleanor?”

“She’s well,” Athos would not tell her of his worry, he saved that for Anna.

“And Jacquetta?” Constance took d’Artagnan’s empty cup, her fingers brushing his as she did so.

“As lively as ever,” said d’Artagnan, “she’s got most of the garrison wrapped around her finger.”

“Including you,” Constance laughed as she turned back to join the Queen.

The summer sun was warm on Eleanor’s face as she walked the streets with Anna and Jacquetta. She heard the garrison before they reached it, the thrill of steel and loud voices permeating the air as musketeers trained. The scents of sword oil, horses and leather greeted her as they approached the archway. Eleanor breathed deeply, the scents were familiar and comforting. Anna kissed Eleanor on the cheek and left to complete her list of errands. Eleanor smiled as Jacquetta tugged on her hand to lead her through the archway and into the courtyard.

“Guillem,” Jacquetta’s joyful shout sounded and she released Eleanor’s hand.

Eleanor heard Jacquetta’s bouncing footsteps and a gentle thud as Guillem caught the child in his arms.

“Madame, how are you?” Guillem had approached her.

“I’m well, thank you. How are you? Is your wife well?” Eleanor smiled at him, the young musketeer had married in the early spring and she had liked his new wife immensely.

Guillem gave a small laugh, “We’re well, Celine is with child.”

“Oh how wonderful,” Eleanor reached out, finding his arm and squeezing it gently.

“Can we brush your horse, Guillem?” Jacquetta had clearly grown bored with conversational enquiries, Eleanor could hear her wriggling.

“I’ve already brushed her today, how about we clean the saddle instead?”

“Alright then,” Jacquetta sounded happy with the offered alternative. Eleanor knew she would be happy with almost anything, as long as she was free to flit around the garrison.

“At least you’re getting plenty of practice for when your child arrives,” Eleanor smiled and Guillem laughed.

“That’s true, I’ll take you to see your horse before we get to work if you’d like?” Eleanor took his arm and he led her towards the stables, Jacquetta chattering happily as they went.

“Thank you, Guillem,” Eleanor took the apple he handed her.

“You’re welcome. Right, come on, trouble, we’ve got a saddle to clean.” Jacquetta squealed as he swung her up and walked away.

Eleanor smiled to herself as she turned to face the mare who had been hopefully nudging at her arm. The horse whickered at her and Eleanor obligingly fed her the apple. She ran her hand over the soft coat, the warm muscles rippling under her fingers. The mare crunched happily at the apple and huffed, her breath warm on Eleanor’s hand. Eleanor scratched her behind the ears, murmuring softly to her. Huffing again, the mare nudged softly at Eleanor’s belly.

“I know it’s strange, it’s why I haven’t taken you out recently, I can barely sit on a chair comfortably, never mind ride you. The others have taken you out though so it’s not so bad.”

Another sharp kick and a wave of pain rolled across her stomach. Eleanor gasped, her arm hanging over the mare’s neck. The horse stood still, sensing her mistress needed her. After a few moments, the pain passed. Eleanor rested her head against the mare, breathing deeply. After a few moments, she stood straight again and heard footsteps in the aisle behind her.

“Eleanor,” Treville rested a hand on her back and she smiled at him.

“Good morning, Father.”

He kissed her on the cheek and she could feel him studying her.

“Are you alright? You’re very pale.”

“Oh I’m alright, but carrying the child of a musketeer is rather like being kicked to death from the inside.”

Treville chuckled, “I wouldn’t necessarily blame Athos on that score, I recall your mother saying something similar about you.” He placed an arm around her shoulders as she laughed. “Come on, Aramis and Porthos are at the table, you should sit down for a while.”

Eleanor did not object, but allowed him to guide her out into the courtyard and over to the bench. Aramis and Porthos greeted her, one of them pushing a cup into her hands. Treville kissed her cheek, excusing himself to attend to urgent paperwork. Eleanor nodded and sipped the watered wine, she felt rather warm, even in the shade of the garrison. Jacquetta laughed somewhere and a blade was run over the grinding stone. Nearby, a fly buzzed, sounding impossibly loud.

“Eleanor?” Aramis sounded concerned and she shook herself.

“I’m sorry, Aramis, what was that?”

“I asked if you had other plans for the day,” she could tell he was frowning.

“You alright?” Porthos also sounded concerned.

“I…yes, I think I may go home.”

Eleanor placed a hand on the table and stood, as she rose a new wave of pain gripped her, more intense than any of the others had been. She bent double, gripping the table in an effort to remain standing. Vaguely she heard the benches move as Aramis and Porthos leapt to their feet. They appeared on either side of her, Porthos wrapping an arm around her and holding her upright. She felt Aramis’ hands on her face, his long fingers cool on her skin.

“Eleanor?”

“I’m alright I just…” she gasped as the pain lingered. The garrison had gone silent.

“Eleanor tell me truthfully, this isn’t the first pain you’ve had is it?”

“No, I’ve had them through the morning.” She gripped Porthos’ arm to steady herself. Even through the pain she could tell they were having one of their silent conversations.

“Eleanor,” Aramis’ voice was steady as he took her shoulders, “your baby is coming.”

“It’s too soon.” Her grip tightened on Porthos’ arm. “Anna said it would be weeks yet.”

“I don’t think the child is listening to what Anna says, your baby wishes to join the world today.”

“We can send someone to get Anna, but you ain’t goin’ anywhere,” Porthos’ voice was gentle as he ran a hand over her hair.

“She’s not at the house.”

“Then we’ll help you.” Aramis squeezed her hand gently. “Don’t worry, we’ve done this before, being a musketeer leads you to some…interesting situations. Come on, let’s find somewhere quieter.”

“Jacquetta, where’s Jacquetta?”

“Mama,” Jacquetta’s voice echoed across the courtyard and a moment later she had grasped Eleanor’s hand. “Mama, what’s happening?”

“It’s alright, dearest, your new brother or sister wants to come out.” Eleanor brushed her hand over wild curls and a soft cheek. “I need you to stay here with the musketeers and to be very good, can you do that for me?”

“Yes, Mama.”

“Good girl.”

“Will you be alright, Mama?”

“I’ll be fine, I have Porthos and Aramis to look after me.” Eleanor smiled and hugged the child, trying to impart all her love and none of her pain. Jacquetta clutched at her, and as they parted, pressed a soft kiss to Eleanor’s cheek.

“We’ll take care of her, little dove,” Aramis said kindly, “go on, go with Guillem.”

Eleanor heard Guillem lead Jacquetta away and allowed Porthos and Aramis to help her up the stairs. The wooden staircase seemed unending, each step a mountain, but eventually, they reached the balcony. Aramis barely knocked before pushing the door open.

“What on earth?” Treville’s angry growl met them, followed by a moment of shocked silence. “Ah.”

“Sorry, Captain, we need to commandeer your office,” Aramis sounded cheerful, “we’ll need-”

“Hot water, cloths and blankets, this isn’t my first birth, Aramis.” He left the room and they could hear him barking orders in the courtyard.

Aramis and Porthos looked at each other, it still surprised them when Treville revealed another aspect of fatherhood that they had never considered, let alone witnessed. Eleanor’s breath hitched and Porthos held her arm, keeping her steady. Her fingers twisted into his jerkin as he stroked her hair.

“Right,” said Aramis, “let’s get you unlaced, you’ll be far happier out of your dress and stays.”

Eleanor nodded and Porthos folded his arms around her, pulling her to his chest. He continued to stroke her hair, murmuring soft comforts. Aramis began to unlace the back of her dress, fingers sure and swift as he loosened the ties. Carefully they eased her from the dress and she breathed a sigh of relief as Aramis undid her stays, leaving her clad in her chemise.

When Treville returned to his office, Eleanor was pacing slowly up and down, her hand braced on the wall. Aramis and Porthos stood to one side, both in their shirt sleeves. Treville directed the musketeers with him to lay their burdens of water, cloths and blankets down. They did so swiftly, wasting no time in leaving the office. Aramis and Porthos set to work, laying blankets on the floor beside the bed, setting the buckets and cloths within easy reach.

Treville watched Eleanor as she paced towards him. Someone, presumably Aramis had braided her hair. She paused as she reached him, one hand stretching out. Treville took her hand, pulling her to him. Gently he brushed a few strands of loose hair away from her face. She was warm, even for her, a sheen of sweat across her forehead. Her breath hitched and he caught her as she bit back a cry of pain. He held her, stroking a hand over her back as she rode through the wave of pain. She twisted a hand into his shirt, her breaths short as the pain eased.

“I’m scared, Papa.”

Treville closed his eyes, he could not tell her how her words wrenched at him.

“So was your mother. But you have her strength, my lioness, she’s with you today.”

“Where’s Athos?” her breath hitched again and her fingers dug into him.

“I’ve sent Mikel and Therron to fetch him.”

“I want him here.”

“Trust me, Eleanor, you don’t. There’s a reason fathers stay outside the birthing room; you do what you need to do and I’ll stay outside with him. We’ll come and see you when you’re ready.” He felt her nod against him and kissed her hair. “God be with you, my dearest girl.”

He squeezed her hand and she turned away, pacing back along the wall. Her breath hitched once again and Aramis strode over to her, taking her arm. Treville watched as the musketeer lifted the golden rosary from beneath his shirt, placing it carefully around Eleanor’s neck. Eleanor’s fingers closed around the cross and Treville crossed himself. As he left the room, he murmured a prayer to the Virgin Mary to watch over the most precious thing in his world.

The King had decided to retire inside, avoiding the worst of the midday heat. The Queen had remained in the gardens for a few moments longer, relishing the peace. Athos and d’Artagnan stood at the door as the courtiers filed into the cool shade of the palace. There was a sound of hurried footsteps on the gravel path. Constance hurried into sight, holding up her skirts as she ran. D’Artagnan frowned as he saw two musketeers following behind her.

“Athos,” Constance gasped for breath as she reached them.

Athos took her arm, concern flashing across his face.

“What is it?”

“It’s Eleanor, the baby’s coming.”

D’Artagnan watched a myriad of emotions cross his friend’s face.

“We’ve been sent to relieve you, Athos, you and d’Artagnan are to go back to the garrison.” Mikel had approached them, Therron just behind him.

“The garrison?” d’Artagnan asked. Words still eluded Athos.

“She’s there.”

They all paused as the Queen approached. Her face was kind as she laid a hand on Athos’ arm.

“Go to her, Athos, your duty is to her now.”

“My thanks, Majesty.” Athos recovered himself just enough to nod in thanks and bow to the Queen before turning and running for all he was worth to the stables, d’Artagnan a step behind him.

Porthos ran the cloth over Eleanor’s face and neck, trying his best to keep her cool. She sat on the blankets they had laid on the floor, her back against the bed. Aramis held her hand, unflinching as her grip tightened once more. The pains were coming fast now, each one lasting longer. Aramis was relieved to see that Eleanor was as calm as she could be considering the circumstances. He had feared panic, which would help no one. Another pain gripped her and as she shifted, the golden cross glinted against her chemise. Aramis prayed that it would protect her.

Treville stood at the bottom of the stairs, resisting the urge to pace, it would not do to display his nerved to the entire garrison. The musketeers moved around the garrison, finding tasks to occupy themselves. Despite the calm exterior of their Captain, the soldiers could tell he was on edge. Those who had their own children had herded younger musketeers away from the main courtyard, aware of how difficult the waiting was. Although men spoke, their voices were hushed, no sparring taking place. No one had any desire to irritate the Captain, or disturb Eleanor.

Treville looked up as clattering hooves echoed through the courtyard. Athos hauled his horse to a stop, and Treville could not be certain if the snorting animal or the man astride his back was the more fierce. Athos swung himself from the saddle, boots hitting the ground almost before his horse stood still. Two musketeers reached him before the stable boy, taking the reins of his and d’Artagnan’s horses, leaving them free. Treville braced himself as Athos strode across the courtyard, the space not large enough for him to break into a run.

“Where is she?” Athos was breathing hard.

“She’s-” Treville broke off as a cry came from above, the garrison falling silent as Eleanor’s pain sounded across the courtyard. “-Athos no.”

Treville grasped Athos by the shoulders, blocking his attempt to run up the stairs. The other musketeers had melted away, only d’Artagnan remaining close.

“Let me pass.” Anyone else would have shrunk from the look in Athos’ eye, but Treville had trained the man, he was not afraid of him.

“No-” Treville laid a hand on Athos’ chest, “-listen to me, Eleanor has a hard enough task ahead of her, without you fretting beside her.”

His words had been the right ones. Athos stopped fighting the restraining hand on his chest, Treville could feel the frantic breaths and pounding heart beneath his palm.

“Is she…”

“She’s alright, Aramis and Porthos will look after her, they’ve done this before. Come on.”

Treville put a hand on Athos’ shoulder and turned him back towards the benches. They were met by d’Artagnan, the boy pushing cups of wine into their hands as they sat down heavily.

“Papa,” Jacquetta’s voice sounded, breaking into their thoughts.

They turned as the child ran across the courtyard, dark hair flying. Athos caught her as she reached him, lifting her onto his lap. He pulled her close to him as she wrapped her arms about his neck. As another cry of pain sounded through the air, Athos pressed his face to Jacquetta’s dark curls, more afraid than he had ever been before.

Porthos lit the last candle, chasing away the shadows the setting sun was leaving behind. He could hear Aramis encouraging Eleanor as she laboured. Extinguishing the taper, Porthos turned back to them, moving to crouch beside Eleanor. He took her hand, brushing her hair away from her face. Her braid had long since come loose, her fiery hair tangling around her.

Porthos was growing concerned; Eleanor had been trying to push her baby into the world for the last few hours. Her face was pale under the flush of exertion, her breaths short and pained. She was growing tired.

“Come on, Eleanor, you must push again,” Aramis was watching her, frowning.

“I can’t…I…” Her breaths came in short gasps and she shook her head, tears running down her cheeks. Her head hung forwards in exhaustion.

“You must.”

Eleanor shook her head again, a sob breaking from her. Aramis and Porthos looked at each other; she could not give up.

Porthos shifted, pushing Eleanor forwards and sitting behind her, his back resting against the bed. He wrapped his arms around her, drawing her back against his chest. Her head fell back against him and he brushed sweat soaked hair from her face. Her breaths were ragged, her skin too pale under his fingers.

“Shh, it’s alright,” his voice was a low rumble, his cheek resting against her hair. “Just breathe.”

He kept his arms wrapped around her, holding her close, his heartbeat against her back. After a few moments, Eleanor’s sobs ceased, her breaths slowing as she calmed.

“Porthos?” she sounded exhausted.

“I’m here.”

“I’m frightened.”

Eleanor’s body tensed against him and he held her as her breath hitched, waiting for her to calm. When she slumped back against him he pressed his cheek to her hair once more.

“I know, but we’re here with you alright? Every step of the way.” She nodded against him. “Now, come on, you got this, and we’ve got you.”

Eleanor nodded again and Porthos felt her body tense again as she found the deep reserve of iron strength she needed. He kept his arms around her, trying to lend her his own strength as she pushed again, her cry filling the room as she fought the battle for new life.

Athos sat with his head in his hands as Eleanor’s cries echoed through the night air. Jacquetta was curled up on the bench beside him, wrapped in his jerkin. The normal evening camaraderie was absent as every musketeer within the garrison waited anxiously, all desperate to hear news of the woman they had come to care for and the child she bore. Athos could not remember ever feeling so helpless, her pain tormented him and he could not even attempt to help her. He knew that each cry of pain must cut through Treville with as much agony as it cut through him. D’Artagnan had tried to convince them to eat a few hours ago, but they could not. In the end, the food had remained untouched, even the boy only picking at it.

They had all looked up as Eleanor’s cries had ceased, followed by a silence that descended over the garrison. All of them had listened intently for any sound as the silence went on, seemingly endless. Some began to whisper prayers, fearful of the worst. After what felt like an eternity, Eleanor cried out again. A collective breath went through the garrison. The battle was not over yet.

Another cry sounded, worse than any of the others. It tore through the air and the waiting men. Athos felt it rip through him like a musket ball. Another silence descended.

_Oh God, please don’t let me lose her._

A tiny cry broke the silence, almost like the mewling of a kitten. It grew to a furious wail as the new arrival objected to unfamiliar surroundings. Minutes passed and Athos held his breath.

_Was she safe?_

He looked up as the door above them opened, footsteps sounding on the balcony. Aramis and Porthos emerged, there were shadows under their eyes, they looked exhausted. Yet they grinned like fools. They made their way down the stairs, their muscles stiff and tired. Athos rose from the bench, his legs shaking. He had barely stood when Porthos reached him, catching him up in a bear hug that almost lifted him from his feet.

“How is she?” Athos needed to hear the words.

“She’s doin’ alright.” Porthos grinned down at him, clapping him on the shoulder with enough force to make his knees shake.

“Congratulations, my friend.” Aramis laid a hand on his shoulder, there was the barest hint of pain behind his warm look. He had delivered a child to his brother, one that could be held and acknowledged, unlike his own.

“Thank you, for taking care of her,” Athos felt as though he could barely speak.

“It was all we could do,” Aramis smiled at him.

“Yeah, you can buy us a drink later,” Porthos chuckled, reaching for a wine jug.

“Go to her, Athos, she’s waiting for you.” Aramis gave him the gentlest of pushes and Athos made his way up the stairs, his hand shaking on the bannister.

Athos took a deep, steadying breath before he opened the door, he did not want to alarm Eleanor or the child. Slowly he opened the door. A light summer breeze floated through the open window. Eleanor was settled on the small bed, propped up on the bolster and folded blankets. In her arms was a tiny bundle. Her hand caressed a small arm that emerged from the blanket, and Athos saw tiny fingers closed around hers. Her head lifted as she recognised his tread, a smile appearing on her face. She looked exhausted, yet Athos thought she had never looked more perfect.

“Eleanor.”

As he saw her there, safe, happy, his child in her arms, Athos felt he could have wept with relief. She freed her hand from the grasp of tiny fingers and reached out towards him.

“Athos,” her voice was soft. He stepped towards her, suddenly needing to touch her. She grasped his hand, pulling him to sit beside her on the bed. He kissed her, the relief of hours overcoming him.

“For a moment, it went quiet, I thought…” he could not finish the words.

“I’m well, it’s alright,” she soothed him with a brush of her fingers across his cheek. “Here, meet your son.”

“A boy?” He could hardly believe it, his breath caught.

“Indeed.” Eleanor smiled, resting her head against him. “Would you like to hold him?”

With the greatest care, and no small amount of trepidation, Athos took the tiny boy from her arms. Soft, dark hair showed beneath the blanket. Athos ran one finger carefully over one round cheek, watching the child’s blue eyes wander back and forth. He was so small that Athos feared he might break in his hands, but he remembered the fierce wail the child had let out after his birth and realised his son was strong.

_A son. His son._

He would not neglect his boy as his parents had done. Would not leave him to the care of tutors, to be viewed once a day like livestock or some other asset. No. He would cherish this child, as he cherished Jacquetta.

Footsteps sounded outside and there was a tentative knock at the door. Not yet wanting to relinquish the child in his arms, Athos called softly for them to enter. Treville stepped into the room, holding Jacquetta by the hand. Behind him, three of the four inseparables stood.

“Mama,” Jacquetta walked as fast as she could across the room. She had evidently been told not to run.

Eleanor pulled her into her arms, holding her tightly, whispering to her that she had a brother. Athos looked up at his Captain and friends, finding he did not mind if they teased him about holding the babe, yet knowing they would not. Treville strode over, kissing Eleanor’s hair and wrapping his arms around her as best he could.

“I cannot tell you how relieved I am to see you safe, my dearest girl.”

“Thank you, Papa.”

“I hear you’ve given me a grandson.”

“So I have,” Eleanor reached out, and Athos placed the child carefully in her arms.

“Well thank goodness for that, boys at least can be controlled, unlike daughters and granddaughters.” Treville chuckled as he ruffled Jacquetta’s hair.

“You have one of each, my friend,” d’Artagnan had wandered over, laying a hand on Athos shoulder.

“Good thing too,” Aramis was grinning, “any more girls and you would have been quite outnumbered.”

“What you gonna call him?” asked Porthos.

Athos and Eleanor both smiled, they had discussed names for their child some months ago. Athos had tentatively suggested one in the instance of a son. Eleanor had liked the suggestion and had embraced it wholeheartedly when he had explained it. Now, in the face of the question, Athos hesitated. Would his friends think him foolish? Eleanor’s hand slipped into his, all would be well.

“Thomas, after my brother.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a ride, darlings, I hope you've enjoyed it as much as I have. Your comments and kudos have kept me going and I love you all xx
> 
> PS: You have OddmentsandTweaks to thank for it being a happy ending, she demanded there be happiness and I can't deny her.


End file.
